"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wed husband, to love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"
When Ruthie had heard the preacher say those words three years, she never would have guessed what lay ahead in her marriage. She expected that there would be times of unemployment, bitter days of arguments, and even a chance he could get in a car accident and end up in a wheel chair. When she thought about all those circumstances, she felt she could still love Bob through it all. Love could carry them through those times. Bob was so wonderful that divorce was not an option. But now, she was heartbroken.
It had been a quiet night when she received the phone call from the police station that Bob had been in jail. The trial seemed to go by quickly, and life for Ruthie had been a blur through it all. Bob maintained his innocence despite every lawyer pressuring him to plead guilty and the judge might go easy on him. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was not a doubt in her mind that Bob was telling the truth, and she supported him the best she could through visits and phone calls.
Part of her died when the jury found him guilty. Ruthie promised him they would appeal. She would work day and night to find out who framed him. While she was a frantic mess, Bob pushed back the fear that was in his eyes and remained calm and hopeful. He wasn't sure how, but he knew God would make things turn out right. Since it was third degree murder, the judge gave him sixteen years, with parole possible in ten.
Ten years. She would be without her Bob for ten whole years. She couldn't have dinner with him, he couldn't help decorate the house at Christmas time, they couldn't go somewhere fun for their anniversary. Everything was shattered. Not to mention that she'd be in her late thirties when he'd eventually come out. They'd miss the best years of their lives together. What if he changed while he was in jail? He could be a completely different man when he finally came out. And what about herself? She'd be without a man in her life for ten whole years. They hadn't had time to have children yet. Now they might never. For an instant, she seriously considered his suggestion that maybe she should divorce him so she wouldn't be wasting her life waiting for him.
The doubt lasted only for a minute. No, she could never divorce him. No man was better than Bob. That's why she married him. She knew that he was a strong enough man that he wouldn't let prison break him. Besides, she could see him often enough. It's not like he was oversees. She would go to the prison every day (or as much as they would allow). God was testing her devotion to Bob, and maybe this was a witnessing opportunity for her to the other prisoners there. Ruthie and Bob were going to get through it.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Day 196: Do You Believe Me?
Should be Day 211.
I have no friends in this world. All of my family has abandoned me. Strangers won't even look at my face. I am alone.
I am not hideous. I do not have any deformities. I don't have any weird quirks, like stuttering or ticks or wanting to itch my nose 24/7. No, I'm perfectly normal, which is why I don't understand why people hate me so much. Maybe it's my hair. It's awfully orange looking, for a girl, and it's very curly, making it hard to maintain. Put overalls on me and stick a gun in my hands, and I'd probably look like a wild mountain girl. A person doesn't deserve to be hated for what she looks like, or what she believes in.
It all started when I was twelve. I didn't like telling anyone about it at first. I knew people would start treating me differently, and I was right. Footprints had been everywhere, all shapes and sizes. Once, I thought I saw a bear's footprint too. It turned out to be only a guy dressed in a costume hired for a birthday party. But the rest of the footprints were real. There must have been at least six different sets of prints, one smaller set belong to a child or midget. I didn't think too much about them. I used to see them every day outside my cabin window. When I did try to show them to my dad a week later, they were gone. No visible traces.
Then I started seeing evidence in the house. At first I thought I was imagining it all. My closet door was open when I thought I closed it. A t-shirt was on the opposite side of my drawer. Part of my coloring page that I had on my desk was colored in. My toothbrush was moved. The more these things happened, the more I was sure the Gang had invaded my room. It was only my room they touched, never the kitchen or the living room or any of the other bedrooms.
Whenever I tried to tell my mother about it, she shrugged her shoulders and said I had a vivid imagination. Who would dream up something like that, I'd like to know. I started being afraid to go to sleep at night. My shades would flap violently in the night breeze. My door would creak, gently but loudly. My skin crawled at the thought of a Gang invading my room to try on my clothes and snoop through my treasures box while I slept. I had nightmares they would take me to their secret lab and do experiments on me with the DNA they would collect. The Gang must have known I caught on to them because one day all of it stopped. No more objects misplaced or disturbed. Total quiet. I should have known it was simply their tactic to put me off guard.
For the next seven years, they sporadically came and went from my life. Sometimes they stayed two months, sometimes nine, and sometimes it was only for a few days. They always came though. Eventually I saw signs of them at school. Shadows lingered on the walls and then disappeared as I rounded the corner, and my locker was never in the same condition I left it.
Even when we moved to Nebraska and then Washington, the Gang was somehow able to find me. I know it was the same people because the same six (sometimes) seven sets of footprints were there. When a Gang was been following you for seven years, you get to know them. Besides the child midget, there was a large set which I assumed belonged to the dad or the ring leader. There was always a slender set, could be from a mom or little old lady. One of them liked eating strawberry Starbursts because I often found wrappers on my bedroom floor. I never ate chewy candy. Another one of them liked vanilla scented perfume. The wind often carried it to me at night, or I smelled it in my locker. I'm afraid of strangers now because I never know if the person I meet is a part of the Gang.
The thing I couldn't figure out was why? Why follow me? What's so special about me? I was average. I didn't do anything interesting. After I hadn't been kidnapped for three years, I assumed they never wanted to take me. What did they want from me? These questions often haunt my thoughts.
People don't ask me anymore why I always look behind my shoulder or keep my head down when they talk to them. My parents stopped paying for my bi-monthly appointments at Dr. Katz's office. I have given up on deviating away from my normal routine. I welcome the Gang when they come, for they are always with me now. My true friends in this world. I stick by them, even if no one believes me.
I have no friends in this world. All of my family has abandoned me. Strangers won't even look at my face. I am alone.
I am not hideous. I do not have any deformities. I don't have any weird quirks, like stuttering or ticks or wanting to itch my nose 24/7. No, I'm perfectly normal, which is why I don't understand why people hate me so much. Maybe it's my hair. It's awfully orange looking, for a girl, and it's very curly, making it hard to maintain. Put overalls on me and stick a gun in my hands, and I'd probably look like a wild mountain girl. A person doesn't deserve to be hated for what she looks like, or what she believes in.
It all started when I was twelve. I didn't like telling anyone about it at first. I knew people would start treating me differently, and I was right. Footprints had been everywhere, all shapes and sizes. Once, I thought I saw a bear's footprint too. It turned out to be only a guy dressed in a costume hired for a birthday party. But the rest of the footprints were real. There must have been at least six different sets of prints, one smaller set belong to a child or midget. I didn't think too much about them. I used to see them every day outside my cabin window. When I did try to show them to my dad a week later, they were gone. No visible traces.
Then I started seeing evidence in the house. At first I thought I was imagining it all. My closet door was open when I thought I closed it. A t-shirt was on the opposite side of my drawer. Part of my coloring page that I had on my desk was colored in. My toothbrush was moved. The more these things happened, the more I was sure the Gang had invaded my room. It was only my room they touched, never the kitchen or the living room or any of the other bedrooms.
Whenever I tried to tell my mother about it, she shrugged her shoulders and said I had a vivid imagination. Who would dream up something like that, I'd like to know. I started being afraid to go to sleep at night. My shades would flap violently in the night breeze. My door would creak, gently but loudly. My skin crawled at the thought of a Gang invading my room to try on my clothes and snoop through my treasures box while I slept. I had nightmares they would take me to their secret lab and do experiments on me with the DNA they would collect. The Gang must have known I caught on to them because one day all of it stopped. No more objects misplaced or disturbed. Total quiet. I should have known it was simply their tactic to put me off guard.
For the next seven years, they sporadically came and went from my life. Sometimes they stayed two months, sometimes nine, and sometimes it was only for a few days. They always came though. Eventually I saw signs of them at school. Shadows lingered on the walls and then disappeared as I rounded the corner, and my locker was never in the same condition I left it.
Even when we moved to Nebraska and then Washington, the Gang was somehow able to find me. I know it was the same people because the same six (sometimes) seven sets of footprints were there. When a Gang was been following you for seven years, you get to know them. Besides the child midget, there was a large set which I assumed belonged to the dad or the ring leader. There was always a slender set, could be from a mom or little old lady. One of them liked eating strawberry Starbursts because I often found wrappers on my bedroom floor. I never ate chewy candy. Another one of them liked vanilla scented perfume. The wind often carried it to me at night, or I smelled it in my locker. I'm afraid of strangers now because I never know if the person I meet is a part of the Gang.
The thing I couldn't figure out was why? Why follow me? What's so special about me? I was average. I didn't do anything interesting. After I hadn't been kidnapped for three years, I assumed they never wanted to take me. What did they want from me? These questions often haunt my thoughts.
People don't ask me anymore why I always look behind my shoulder or keep my head down when they talk to them. My parents stopped paying for my bi-monthly appointments at Dr. Katz's office. I have given up on deviating away from my normal routine. I welcome the Gang when they come, for they are always with me now. My true friends in this world. I stick by them, even if no one believes me.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Day 195: Swept Away
Reading James 1:6, I had to write something based off it since I was by the beach. The person in the poem struggles with doubt and is personified as a wave as his body tumbles like a wave does.
But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.
I am sure and confident;
I am familiar with all around me.
I feel safe; nothing is amiss.
All is even, calm, and strong.
Prickling pain stabs my heart.
My ears hum; white diamonds swirl ahead,
Shielding my vision.
My foot slides straight under me
as my body lurches forward.
Unable to find a firm plane,
my feet keep shuffling.
My knees buckle and curl.
I start to lift higher.
All my world is chaotic.
My eyes search for solace
but all they find is white spray.
I teeter at the peak.
A hush descends, the air holds its breath.
The fear throttles my throat
and slams me down with a jolt.
My head splatters and tucks under my feet.
I get pushed away and rolled flat
into the world of uncertainty.
But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.
I am sure and confident;
I am familiar with all around me.
I feel safe; nothing is amiss.
All is even, calm, and strong.
Prickling pain stabs my heart.
My ears hum; white diamonds swirl ahead,
Shielding my vision.
My foot slides straight under me
as my body lurches forward.
Unable to find a firm plane,
my feet keep shuffling.
My knees buckle and curl.
I start to lift higher.
All my world is chaotic.
My eyes search for solace
but all they find is white spray.
I teeter at the peak.
A hush descends, the air holds its breath.
The fear throttles my throat
and slams me down with a jolt.
My head splatters and tucks under my feet.
I get pushed away and rolled flat
into the world of uncertainty.
Day 194: The Dawn
I watched the sun rise recently, something I've never done before. Being surrounded by nature inspires me, so I wrote a couple of poems while reading my devotions by the beach at sunrise. They're free verse and rough drafts, but I just wrote the phrases that came to my mind.
This is one of the verses I read that helped inspire me. James 1:11 For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes. So also will the rich man fade away in the midst of his pursuits.
Fresh, untainted sky.
World in perfect bliss while we drift away.
Crisp, refreshing air wrapping around the trees.
Ripple of the leaves above.
Even cadence of the waves rocking against the sand.
Birds bring in the dawn with their song,
But there is resistance.
Looming yesterday, thick and heavy
fights with the dawn.
Reason blurring on the edges of the
wide canvas of our lives overhead.
But it's the past, for pushing its way up
through the mess is hope.
Gentle bursts of pink,
Whispers of lilac encroaching on the gray,
Massive cotton puffs try with all their might
to smother that hope,
But no one can keep down that
giant orb of love.
Bold brilliance.
Fiery as it is subtle,
Sun beams rain down
and wash away the past.
Licks of tangerine turning those
Gray masses into white wisps.
And the rich man in all his folly will fall.
Day 193: Princess Bride Ending
And now for the conclusion! The author wanted to talk for the rest of the book, I guess.
I won't bore you with tactical details. Basically, Fezzik was able to take about eight of them at once, since he was used to fighting in groups, but when more started charging him, he got desperate, and he knew that Humperdinck was close to his friends, and he couldn't let that happen, so he charged at the soldiers with fallen tree branches and outran them as he followed Humperdinck. It took some time (Morgenstern spent about a page saying how hard it was for Fezzik to keep up), but everyone caught up to each other. Westley leaned on the horse with one arm extended and wiggled it towards the soldiers attacking, while Buttercup was safely behind him. Inigo had enough strength to fight with his sword, and with Fezzik's help, they killed or wounded all the soldiers. Scared, Humperdinck had started running away, but upon Westley's orders, Fezzik ran after him and carried him back. While Fezzik held him still, Westley cut off Prince Humperdinck's feet as promised, along with one of his hands, and left him bleeding on the ground. Then the four of them galloped, two by two, the last mile to the channel and safely boarded The Revenge.
But what of Inigo's and Westley's health, you ask? And Buttercup's marriage? And the fate or Florin and Guilder? Morgenstern went on for another 500 pages about all that, but my publisher tells me I have a page maximum (no one likes reading long novels nowadays), so I'll just summarize it for you.
After everyone had a meal on the ship, Westley slept for two days straight. Buttercup was worried he wouldn't wake up, but to her relief he did, and ate a large meal again. He said he never felt better. His limbs moved with no problems, and his mind was as sharp as ever. Buttercup, naturally, was glad, and eagerly let Westley give her a tour of the ship. Inigo's wounds healed up well enough, and he helped Westley find another crew and learned the ways of a pirate. Fezzik enjoyed helping them all and decided he wanted to start writing down his rhymes in a book.
Prince Humperdinck did catch up to them, after two years of fighting Guilder but losing due to his lost limbs. It was a terrible attack, and Humperdinck escaped, with the loss of his other hand and one of his eyes. In a subsequent battle of Westley versus the Prince, he lost his other eye and his nose, and Prince Humperdinck began to understand what "to the pain" meant. He couldn't take the horrendous screams from the people of Florin any longer and committed suicide about a week later. Shortly after that, King Lothlorin finally did die, and Buttercup, being a princess, felt it was her duty to return. Westley had to warm up to the idea of being king, but he eventually grew to like the power he had. When Buttercup and Westley returned to Florin, the Queen welcomed them with open arms (she knew how horrible her stepson had been), and they were properly married (after all, Buttercup wasn't legally married in the first place). Inigo, having learned much from Westley, became the next Dread Pirate Roberts for a time, until Westley figured he'd be a better asset at the front of his army training them. Fezzik tagged along with Inigo, and he went from being the First Mate of the The Revenge to the leader of the Brute Squad. And Buttercup had seven children, all of them healthy and just as beautiful and talented as their parents. And they lived happily ever after.
Edit: After Buttercup's Baby~
Fezzik did not die on the rocks. Maybe he was able to tumble away in time. Perhaps a giant bird swooped up and caught them last minute. Maybe whatever special power was in Fezzik now saved him. However it happened, he was saved, and Waverly grew up safe and healthy with her Shadow to protect her. The gang had many more happy adventures together, eventually getting off the island once they were sure Humperdinck and all other danger was passed. And Inigo was reunited with his love...somehow. Anyways, they all lived long, happy lives into the ever after.
I won't bore you with tactical details. Basically, Fezzik was able to take about eight of them at once, since he was used to fighting in groups, but when more started charging him, he got desperate, and he knew that Humperdinck was close to his friends, and he couldn't let that happen, so he charged at the soldiers with fallen tree branches and outran them as he followed Humperdinck. It took some time (Morgenstern spent about a page saying how hard it was for Fezzik to keep up), but everyone caught up to each other. Westley leaned on the horse with one arm extended and wiggled it towards the soldiers attacking, while Buttercup was safely behind him. Inigo had enough strength to fight with his sword, and with Fezzik's help, they killed or wounded all the soldiers. Scared, Humperdinck had started running away, but upon Westley's orders, Fezzik ran after him and carried him back. While Fezzik held him still, Westley cut off Prince Humperdinck's feet as promised, along with one of his hands, and left him bleeding on the ground. Then the four of them galloped, two by two, the last mile to the channel and safely boarded The Revenge.
But what of Inigo's and Westley's health, you ask? And Buttercup's marriage? And the fate or Florin and Guilder? Morgenstern went on for another 500 pages about all that, but my publisher tells me I have a page maximum (no one likes reading long novels nowadays), so I'll just summarize it for you.
After everyone had a meal on the ship, Westley slept for two days straight. Buttercup was worried he wouldn't wake up, but to her relief he did, and ate a large meal again. He said he never felt better. His limbs moved with no problems, and his mind was as sharp as ever. Buttercup, naturally, was glad, and eagerly let Westley give her a tour of the ship. Inigo's wounds healed up well enough, and he helped Westley find another crew and learned the ways of a pirate. Fezzik enjoyed helping them all and decided he wanted to start writing down his rhymes in a book.
Prince Humperdinck did catch up to them, after two years of fighting Guilder but losing due to his lost limbs. It was a terrible attack, and Humperdinck escaped, with the loss of his other hand and one of his eyes. In a subsequent battle of Westley versus the Prince, he lost his other eye and his nose, and Prince Humperdinck began to understand what "to the pain" meant. He couldn't take the horrendous screams from the people of Florin any longer and committed suicide about a week later. Shortly after that, King Lothlorin finally did die, and Buttercup, being a princess, felt it was her duty to return. Westley had to warm up to the idea of being king, but he eventually grew to like the power he had. When Buttercup and Westley returned to Florin, the Queen welcomed them with open arms (she knew how horrible her stepson had been), and they were properly married (after all, Buttercup wasn't legally married in the first place). Inigo, having learned much from Westley, became the next Dread Pirate Roberts for a time, until Westley figured he'd be a better asset at the front of his army training them. Fezzik tagged along with Inigo, and he went from being the First Mate of the The Revenge to the leader of the Brute Squad. And Buttercup had seven children, all of them healthy and just as beautiful and talented as their parents. And they lived happily ever after.
Edit: After Buttercup's Baby~
Fezzik did not die on the rocks. Maybe he was able to tumble away in time. Perhaps a giant bird swooped up and caught them last minute. Maybe whatever special power was in Fezzik now saved him. However it happened, he was saved, and Waverly grew up safe and healthy with her Shadow to protect her. The gang had many more happy adventures together, eventually getting off the island once they were sure Humperdinck and all other danger was passed. And Inigo was reunited with his love...somehow. Anyways, they all lived long, happy lives into the ever after.
Day 192: More of the Princess Bride
Prince Humperdinck stopped his horse and studied the ground. His men
hovered behind him and watched him get off his horse and track the
paths the horses had taken.
"They had an accident. Someone fell off the horse. Buttercup, I think. There's blood over here, probably from that Spaniard. It looks like the giant went down this trail for some reason while the rest of the group continued straight ahead. The giant is of no consequence. We go this way." He motioned down the trail where the blood was.
"Westley, we can't stay lying down in this hollowed out log forever. Humperdinck will eventually find us."
"I know that," he said, breathing heavily. "I simply need to rest a few minutes. I don't know why I can't move my arms or legs."
"It could be," Inigo said in a barely audible whisper, "that your body simply needs rest. Having just come back to life and all. You need to slow down."
"Well, I can't slow down in good conscience when I have people chasing after me. Buttercup, Inigo's wounds still need tending to. I can't do it right now, so you will have to."
"Me! I don't know the first thing about first aid!"
"It's a fine time to start. Don't worry, my love, I'll talk you through it."
"I don't know, Westley."
"Look, I trust you, and if I trust you, then you can trust you."
"But I'm not sure if I trust her," Inigo muttered under his breath.
Using some plants in the forest and the makeshift first aid kit that Westley kept in his boot (all good pirates carry one), Buttercup sewed up Inigo's stomach wound and cleaned the two in his shoulders. Inigo would have killed for some brandy about then, but all he had was some opium Westley had instructed Buttercup to pick for the Spaniard's pain. It wasn't the best job, and Buttercup nearly fainted a couple times, but as long as Westley kept talking, she was fine.
When Fezzik finally realized that he wasn't with the rest of his group, he panicked.
"Stupid, stupid! You had to keep rhyming, didn't you? Now you've lost your way!"
He decided the most logical thing would be to retrace his steps. It never occurred to Fezzik that he could have used his height to his advantage by merely staring over the trees and looking miles ahead. Instead he wandered around in circles for a while, wondering if he was ever going to get out. Finally, he became so upset that he started lifting tree stumps and branches out of his way so he could get threw them. Fezzik didn't know it yet, but his method was working and would eventually get him out.
"Darling," Buttercup said to Westley a few minutes after she had sewn up Inigo, "can you move again?"
"Not really, no."
"I'm getting afraid now. Humperdinck is sure to catch up with us."
"We will if you keep talking so loudly."
"I'm sorry," she added softly.
"Come on," Inigo said as he used the six-fingered sword to lift himself up. "You help me carry him, and we'll put him on the horse."
"But what about my horse? It threw a shoe."
"We'll have to leave him. You can ride with him and hold him on the horse."
Buttercup complied, and with many "oofs" and "ughs" and "Ouch, that's my eye," the three were saddled and started galloping back onto the path towards the channel. Prince Humperdinck was almost caught up to them now. He could hear his great whites neighing ahead. He urged everyone to go faster. The three saddled figures soon came into view. Prince Humperdinck pulled out his dagger from his boot. The man in black's shoulder was sticking out from Buttercup's body, and if he could keep his horse steady enough, his excellent hunting skills could be used to nail him. Prince Humperdinck held the dagger near the side of his face and gauged the amount of strength he'd need to thrust the dagger in the right area. Just as he was about to fling it forward, a large tree branch fell in the path, right in front of him, making his horse rear up in fright. He fell to the ground, and another branch landed near his head. (You see, Fezzik had been making his way through the forest in a forward, sideways direction, so he was keeping up with his friends in a long about sort of way. He had no idea that Humperdinck was nearby as he was flinging branches away, and that one branch stopped Humperdinck right as he was about to throw his dagger was purely coincidental).
"What is going on?!!" the Prince yelled, getting to his feet.
"I don't know," one guard answered.
"Then why are you on my army?!"
"You're on the Brute Squad. DO SOMETHING!"
Fezzik finally emerged from the forest and saw Humperdinck's men in front of him. He was quite scared and wanted tgo run but held his ground.
"You four," the Prince barked, "follow those horses. The rest of you, take down the giant."
"They had an accident. Someone fell off the horse. Buttercup, I think. There's blood over here, probably from that Spaniard. It looks like the giant went down this trail for some reason while the rest of the group continued straight ahead. The giant is of no consequence. We go this way." He motioned down the trail where the blood was.
"Westley, we can't stay lying down in this hollowed out log forever. Humperdinck will eventually find us."
"I know that," he said, breathing heavily. "I simply need to rest a few minutes. I don't know why I can't move my arms or legs."
"It could be," Inigo said in a barely audible whisper, "that your body simply needs rest. Having just come back to life and all. You need to slow down."
"Well, I can't slow down in good conscience when I have people chasing after me. Buttercup, Inigo's wounds still need tending to. I can't do it right now, so you will have to."
"Me! I don't know the first thing about first aid!"
"It's a fine time to start. Don't worry, my love, I'll talk you through it."
"I don't know, Westley."
"Look, I trust you, and if I trust you, then you can trust you."
"But I'm not sure if I trust her," Inigo muttered under his breath.
Using some plants in the forest and the makeshift first aid kit that Westley kept in his boot (all good pirates carry one), Buttercup sewed up Inigo's stomach wound and cleaned the two in his shoulders. Inigo would have killed for some brandy about then, but all he had was some opium Westley had instructed Buttercup to pick for the Spaniard's pain. It wasn't the best job, and Buttercup nearly fainted a couple times, but as long as Westley kept talking, she was fine.
When Fezzik finally realized that he wasn't with the rest of his group, he panicked.
"Stupid, stupid! You had to keep rhyming, didn't you? Now you've lost your way!"
He decided the most logical thing would be to retrace his steps. It never occurred to Fezzik that he could have used his height to his advantage by merely staring over the trees and looking miles ahead. Instead he wandered around in circles for a while, wondering if he was ever going to get out. Finally, he became so upset that he started lifting tree stumps and branches out of his way so he could get threw them. Fezzik didn't know it yet, but his method was working and would eventually get him out.
"Darling," Buttercup said to Westley a few minutes after she had sewn up Inigo, "can you move again?"
"Not really, no."
"I'm getting afraid now. Humperdinck is sure to catch up with us."
"We will if you keep talking so loudly."
"I'm sorry," she added softly.
"Come on," Inigo said as he used the six-fingered sword to lift himself up. "You help me carry him, and we'll put him on the horse."
"But what about my horse? It threw a shoe."
"We'll have to leave him. You can ride with him and hold him on the horse."
Buttercup complied, and with many "oofs" and "ughs" and "Ouch, that's my eye," the three were saddled and started galloping back onto the path towards the channel. Prince Humperdinck was almost caught up to them now. He could hear his great whites neighing ahead. He urged everyone to go faster. The three saddled figures soon came into view. Prince Humperdinck pulled out his dagger from his boot. The man in black's shoulder was sticking out from Buttercup's body, and if he could keep his horse steady enough, his excellent hunting skills could be used to nail him. Prince Humperdinck held the dagger near the side of his face and gauged the amount of strength he'd need to thrust the dagger in the right area. Just as he was about to fling it forward, a large tree branch fell in the path, right in front of him, making his horse rear up in fright. He fell to the ground, and another branch landed near his head. (You see, Fezzik had been making his way through the forest in a forward, sideways direction, so he was keeping up with his friends in a long about sort of way. He had no idea that Humperdinck was nearby as he was flinging branches away, and that one branch stopped Humperdinck right as he was about to throw his dagger was purely coincidental).
"What is going on?!!" the Prince yelled, getting to his feet.
"I don't know," one guard answered.
"Then why are you on my army?!"
"You're on the Brute Squad. DO SOMETHING!"
Fezzik finally emerged from the forest and saw Humperdinck's men in front of him. He was quite scared and wanted tgo run but held his ground.
"You four," the Prince barked, "follow those horses. The rest of you, take down the giant."
Day 191: Obsessed Over The Princess Bride
Should be Day 210.
My little sister and I finished reading The Princess Bride a couple nights. We'd seen the movie earlier this summer and heard the book was even better. I would highly recommend both if you like sarcastic wit, adventure, satire, and true love. We were both a little disappointed that the story ended at such a cliffhanger. It had a happy ending but a gap that left some unanswered questions. The movie fixed it a little, but my mind is still caught up in the book. Goldman mentioned a few things that happened which almost seemed to put the characters' happiness in peril. "Inigo's wound reopened, Wesley relapsed, Fezzik took a wrong turn, and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe." Since I enjoy fan fiction and expanding on "what ifs," I'm writing how I think the book should have ended, continuing where William Goldman left off and using ideas that my sister came up with as well. I tried to write it in Goldman's style, where he abridges the book and adds in notes in italics.
EDIT: We read Buttercup's Baby, and it answered some of the immediate questions we had. Most of this is strictly off from the original text now. Oh well, fun practice.
Inigo, Fezzik, Westley, and Buttercup were galloping off on Prince Humperdinck's four great whites, heading for the Florin Channel where Dread Pirate Roberts' (or Westley's) ship The Revenge was waiting to take them away. Sailing away on his ship with Buttercup had been Westley's intention from the start of his rescue mission, but Prince Humperdinck had interrupted their plans by surrounding the couple after they had survived the Fire Swamp.
The four whites were getting closer to the channel now, creating a larger gap between themselves and Prince Humperdinck, who was fuming that Westley had not only duped him in his own bed chamber but had stolen his four most-prized horses. Buttercup was in a state bliss, now that she was reunited with her sweet Westley. The danger that was galloping behind them did not seem to phase her. Fezzik's horse was able to keep up with the same pace as the other horses, despite the giant's weight and size. Being able to think for himself had put Fezzik in an amiable mood and did wonders to his confidence. He was happily thinking of rhymes. Danger behind us. Stranger. That's a big tree. Bee. Being in Buttercup's presence, Westley felt his body starting to gain more strength. After having come to life that second time, he was fully capable of controlling his whole body now. Her love for him shone from her face and invigorated his body. He had someone to live for, someone to protect. Inigo, on the other hand, was starting to wind down from all the adrenaline that he had coursing through his blood for the past hour, and he was reminded by the pain coming from the open wound in his abdomen that he was in need of medical attention. The galloping wasn't doing him much good either. In another minute, Inigo's wound started to rip open a little further, and he could feel his insides jostling against his fist.
"Excuse me, up there!" he called to Wesley as he tried to conceal the pain in his voice.
"Yes?" Wesley replied, turning his head slightly.
"I hate to bring any more trouble to your already trying day, but I am going to need a doctor, at your earliest convenience."
It was the first time that anyone had stopped to take a look at Inigo and see how severe his wounds were.
"Inigo, are you going to die?" Fezzik's voice in panic.
"Not if I can help it," he winced as his horse jumped over a large tree root.
"Westley, we have to help him," Buttercup begged. "It wouldn't hurt for a doctor to look at you either."
"We can't afford to stop, unless you want to go back Prince Humperdinck."
"I'd rather go back to the Fire Swamp."
He smirked at her answer. "Besides, we're wanted criminals now. Murder, assault, robbing Florin of a princess. People don't tend to overlook things like that."
"You're right," Buttercup admitted.
"Remember that."
"But what about Inigo?" Fezzik protested.
"Don't worry. I won't allow our brave swordsman to suffer. As soon as we're on The Revenge, I'll take a look at it. Being on a pirate, I wasn't without my share of seeing wounds."
This seemed to satisfy all the parties involved, and they rode on, with the sound of Humperdinck and his men still pounding behind them.
Hi, it's me again. This has left me puzzled for years. I'm not sure how it happened, but there appears to be part of Morgenstern's novel that is missing. One minute, they're riding off to Florin channel, and the next, Buttercup, Westley, and Inigo are lying in the grass. Westley seems to be mysteriously weaker, even though Morgenstern had clearly stated on the previous page that he was getting better. At first I thought it was a typo, but the more I read on, the more I knew that something was missing. I don't know how an author can be so careless as to let a page of your book fall out (I for one would never let that happen, it would kill me, but anyways). I searched high and low for that missing page. I called the bookstore owner that I had gotten the manuscript from. I even visited Morgenstern's home to see if I could find it lying around in all the dusk and muck, but to no avail. The page was gone. All I can say is that the binding must have come loose or the page slipped out when he didn't notice. One can only speculate what happened on that page. Inigo is no better, so they didn't go for a doctor and Westley is weak again (maybe his horse landed wrong while he was in a bad position) and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe, which I am only guessing could have been caused by it tripping on a rock. Fezzik is also absent from the party. He hasn't been captured. Maybe he was too caught up in his head with rhymes and took a wrong turn. The important part is that they are delayed and in even more danger than before.
My little sister and I finished reading The Princess Bride a couple nights. We'd seen the movie earlier this summer and heard the book was even better. I would highly recommend both if you like sarcastic wit, adventure, satire, and true love. We were both a little disappointed that the story ended at such a cliffhanger. It had a happy ending but a gap that left some unanswered questions. The movie fixed it a little, but my mind is still caught up in the book. Goldman mentioned a few things that happened which almost seemed to put the characters' happiness in peril. "Inigo's wound reopened, Wesley relapsed, Fezzik took a wrong turn, and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe." Since I enjoy fan fiction and expanding on "what ifs," I'm writing how I think the book should have ended, continuing where William Goldman left off and using ideas that my sister came up with as well. I tried to write it in Goldman's style, where he abridges the book and adds in notes in italics.
EDIT: We read Buttercup's Baby, and it answered some of the immediate questions we had. Most of this is strictly off from the original text now. Oh well, fun practice.
Inigo, Fezzik, Westley, and Buttercup were galloping off on Prince Humperdinck's four great whites, heading for the Florin Channel where Dread Pirate Roberts' (or Westley's) ship The Revenge was waiting to take them away. Sailing away on his ship with Buttercup had been Westley's intention from the start of his rescue mission, but Prince Humperdinck had interrupted their plans by surrounding the couple after they had survived the Fire Swamp.
The four whites were getting closer to the channel now, creating a larger gap between themselves and Prince Humperdinck, who was fuming that Westley had not only duped him in his own bed chamber but had stolen his four most-prized horses. Buttercup was in a state bliss, now that she was reunited with her sweet Westley. The danger that was galloping behind them did not seem to phase her. Fezzik's horse was able to keep up with the same pace as the other horses, despite the giant's weight and size. Being able to think for himself had put Fezzik in an amiable mood and did wonders to his confidence. He was happily thinking of rhymes. Danger behind us. Stranger. That's a big tree. Bee. Being in Buttercup's presence, Westley felt his body starting to gain more strength. After having come to life that second time, he was fully capable of controlling his whole body now. Her love for him shone from her face and invigorated his body. He had someone to live for, someone to protect. Inigo, on the other hand, was starting to wind down from all the adrenaline that he had coursing through his blood for the past hour, and he was reminded by the pain coming from the open wound in his abdomen that he was in need of medical attention. The galloping wasn't doing him much good either. In another minute, Inigo's wound started to rip open a little further, and he could feel his insides jostling against his fist.
"Excuse me, up there!" he called to Wesley as he tried to conceal the pain in his voice.
"Yes?" Wesley replied, turning his head slightly.
"I hate to bring any more trouble to your already trying day, but I am going to need a doctor, at your earliest convenience."
It was the first time that anyone had stopped to take a look at Inigo and see how severe his wounds were.
"Inigo, are you going to die?" Fezzik's voice in panic.
"Not if I can help it," he winced as his horse jumped over a large tree root.
"Westley, we have to help him," Buttercup begged. "It wouldn't hurt for a doctor to look at you either."
"We can't afford to stop, unless you want to go back Prince Humperdinck."
"I'd rather go back to the Fire Swamp."
He smirked at her answer. "Besides, we're wanted criminals now. Murder, assault, robbing Florin of a princess. People don't tend to overlook things like that."
"You're right," Buttercup admitted.
"Remember that."
"But what about Inigo?" Fezzik protested.
"Don't worry. I won't allow our brave swordsman to suffer. As soon as we're on The Revenge, I'll take a look at it. Being on a pirate, I wasn't without my share of seeing wounds."
This seemed to satisfy all the parties involved, and they rode on, with the sound of Humperdinck and his men still pounding behind them.
Hi, it's me again. This has left me puzzled for years. I'm not sure how it happened, but there appears to be part of Morgenstern's novel that is missing. One minute, they're riding off to Florin channel, and the next, Buttercup, Westley, and Inigo are lying in the grass. Westley seems to be mysteriously weaker, even though Morgenstern had clearly stated on the previous page that he was getting better. At first I thought it was a typo, but the more I read on, the more I knew that something was missing. I don't know how an author can be so careless as to let a page of your book fall out (I for one would never let that happen, it would kill me, but anyways). I searched high and low for that missing page. I called the bookstore owner that I had gotten the manuscript from. I even visited Morgenstern's home to see if I could find it lying around in all the dusk and muck, but to no avail. The page was gone. All I can say is that the binding must have come loose or the page slipped out when he didn't notice. One can only speculate what happened on that page. Inigo is no better, so they didn't go for a doctor and Westley is weak again (maybe his horse landed wrong while he was in a bad position) and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe, which I am only guessing could have been caused by it tripping on a rock. Fezzik is also absent from the party. He hasn't been captured. Maybe he was too caught up in his head with rhymes and took a wrong turn. The important part is that they are delayed and in even more danger than before.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Day 190: Stirring Up Love Part 2
Should be Day 209.
Andy's father had been in his upstairs den when he heard Andy explaining the soup he had made. His son's act of kindness touched him.
"Andy had a good idea. I should be doing something special for Trudy."
On his way home from work, Andy's father stopped by a floral shop. "Do you have a special arrangement for people who are sick?" he asked the store clerk.
"Certainly, right this way." The gentleman led him to a booth set up towards the back of the store. "I hope it's nothing serious."
"No, my wife has a cold, and I thought I would bring her home some flowers to cheer her up."
"What a nice idea! Your wife is lucky to have such a devoted husband."
"I just wanted to do something to make her smile."
That conversation stayed in the store clerk's head for the rest of the afternoon. Working in a flower shop, you'd think that Barry would give flowers to several people in his life for all sorts of occasions. Actually, he had never really thought about giving people flowers before (besides his girlfriend). Working at the flower shop was just a job to him. He was touched by the husband's motives and was reminded of why his boss felt working in a flower shop was so important.
"Barry," he had said when Barry had first started working there, "Flowers tell a secret language. They express feelings of the heart. The sight and smell of these colorful plants can bring comfort and brighten anyone's day. And we have the honor of helping them. Never be ashamed of working here."
His next door neighbor had recently come back in town after helping her sister in Kansas City. There had been a death in the family, and although Barry didn't know all the details, he could tell that she must have been exhausted with commuting between her job and her family back home. Getting a bouquet of flowers would be a nice surprise for her.
Madelin was rapidly typing out an email to one of her clients when her doorbell had rung.
"Ugh, who can that be?" She finished typing her sentence and rolled away from her desk to answer the door.
No one was there, but a bouquet of daisies, roses, and hyacinths was gently spread out on her doorstep. The note read, "Take some time out of your busy day to smell the flowers. Hope this gift finds you well. From, your neighbor."
Madelin buried her face in the bouquet and closed her eyes as she deeply inhaled. The light scent filled her lungs and spread some joy to her heart.
"What a wonderful thing for someone to do for me!"
She gingerly tacked the card to her cork board in her office. Years later she would tell the story of that to the dozens of various people who came in. She would explain that right when her world was twisting upside down, a bouquet of flowers arrived anonymously at her door. It sounded silly, but the flowers gave her hope and reminded her that good still existed in the world. The next day, she was still so touched by the gift that she gave $5.00 to the homeless man that frequented the street her downtown office was located at.
Whoever heard Madelin's story were inspired to do good deeds as well, even a simple gesture like bringing home dessert for the family. One woman decided to volunteer to chaperone on a church field trip, even though she didn't feel comfortable around children. Frank, one of Madelin's colleagues, helped his next door neighbor rake her leaves because her arthritis prevented her from doing it. Frank's daughter Donna overheard him tell the whole story to his wife, and Donna was inspired to do something to help the whole neighborhood. She excitedly called her friends about her plan, and on Saturday, they walked through their neighborhoods, gathering trash and knocking on doors asking people if they needed help with anything. One of the chores Donna did was help set up a swing on a tree for a young boy named Andy to use.
Andy's father had been in his upstairs den when he heard Andy explaining the soup he had made. His son's act of kindness touched him.
"Andy had a good idea. I should be doing something special for Trudy."
On his way home from work, Andy's father stopped by a floral shop. "Do you have a special arrangement for people who are sick?" he asked the store clerk.
"Certainly, right this way." The gentleman led him to a booth set up towards the back of the store. "I hope it's nothing serious."
"No, my wife has a cold, and I thought I would bring her home some flowers to cheer her up."
"What a nice idea! Your wife is lucky to have such a devoted husband."
"I just wanted to do something to make her smile."
That conversation stayed in the store clerk's head for the rest of the afternoon. Working in a flower shop, you'd think that Barry would give flowers to several people in his life for all sorts of occasions. Actually, he had never really thought about giving people flowers before (besides his girlfriend). Working at the flower shop was just a job to him. He was touched by the husband's motives and was reminded of why his boss felt working in a flower shop was so important.
"Barry," he had said when Barry had first started working there, "Flowers tell a secret language. They express feelings of the heart. The sight and smell of these colorful plants can bring comfort and brighten anyone's day. And we have the honor of helping them. Never be ashamed of working here."
His next door neighbor had recently come back in town after helping her sister in Kansas City. There had been a death in the family, and although Barry didn't know all the details, he could tell that she must have been exhausted with commuting between her job and her family back home. Getting a bouquet of flowers would be a nice surprise for her.
Madelin was rapidly typing out an email to one of her clients when her doorbell had rung.
"Ugh, who can that be?" She finished typing her sentence and rolled away from her desk to answer the door.
No one was there, but a bouquet of daisies, roses, and hyacinths was gently spread out on her doorstep. The note read, "Take some time out of your busy day to smell the flowers. Hope this gift finds you well. From, your neighbor."
Madelin buried her face in the bouquet and closed her eyes as she deeply inhaled. The light scent filled her lungs and spread some joy to her heart.
"What a wonderful thing for someone to do for me!"
She gingerly tacked the card to her cork board in her office. Years later she would tell the story of that to the dozens of various people who came in. She would explain that right when her world was twisting upside down, a bouquet of flowers arrived anonymously at her door. It sounded silly, but the flowers gave her hope and reminded her that good still existed in the world. The next day, she was still so touched by the gift that she gave $5.00 to the homeless man that frequented the street her downtown office was located at.
Whoever heard Madelin's story were inspired to do good deeds as well, even a simple gesture like bringing home dessert for the family. One woman decided to volunteer to chaperone on a church field trip, even though she didn't feel comfortable around children. Frank, one of Madelin's colleagues, helped his next door neighbor rake her leaves because her arthritis prevented her from doing it. Frank's daughter Donna overheard him tell the whole story to his wife, and Donna was inspired to do something to help the whole neighborhood. She excitedly called her friends about her plan, and on Saturday, they walked through their neighborhoods, gathering trash and knocking on doors asking people if they needed help with anything. One of the chores Donna did was help set up a swing on a tree for a young boy named Andy to use.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Day 189: Stirring Up Love and Goodworks
The Bible often warns us not to stir up anger, but I was put off when Hebrews 10: 24-25 urges us to stir up love. I thought it was an interesting concept to explore.
Andy's mom had been sick in bed for two days now. He didn't seem to fully realize how her sickness would impact him until Saturday morning came and she didn't have his pancakes ready. Dad made him scrambled eggs instead, minus the pepper. Andy thought he had to do something to quicken Mom's recovery because the medicine wasn't doing its job. He sat cross-legged on the floor and furrowed his brow. The last time he had been sick, Mom had let him watch DVDs and read to him. Andy knew Mom had done both with no success. His eyebrows were almost touching now. Mom had given him a big bowl of soup the last day he had been sick. She had said it was a special soup made with all his favorite things. The warm liquid had felt like a blanket enveloping his throat, and he felt better after a nap. He was sure the soup was what made him get better.
Andy dragged a dining room chair to the kitchen counter and set to work gathering ingredients. He couldn't remember everything that was in there but knew he had to make it little different to tailor his mother's taste. He started with a large bowl full of water. All soup had chicken and vegetables in it. He couldn't find any chicken chunks in the refrigerator, but he found some vegetables that she used on her salad sometimes. Into the bowl went carrots, a little spinach, and some cherry tomatoes. Now Andy had to get creative. He dumped some bow-tie pasta in because his mom ate that in her macaroni salad. He crumbled some of her potato chips and sprinkled in some cheese (since she loved eating cheese in pretty much everything). He heated up the bowl and carried it with oven mitts to her room.
She put down her magazine to see what Andy was carrying. "What do you have there, sweetie?"
"It's soup, to help you feel better." Andy set the soup on her nightstand and explained his entire process of putting it together.
His mother's eyes welled with tears. "You spent a lot of time thinking about this. You made it all by yourself?"
"Uh-huh. Try it."
Without hesitation, she scooped a spoonful of the soup into her mouth. "Oh, the carrots taste great with the sliced cheese, and is that...chocolate?"
He beamed. "A little something sweet too."
"It tastes marvelous. I know it'll help me feel better." She gave him a kiss on the forehead and continued eating while he chattered on about what he had done that morning.
Andy's mom had been sick in bed for two days now. He didn't seem to fully realize how her sickness would impact him until Saturday morning came and she didn't have his pancakes ready. Dad made him scrambled eggs instead, minus the pepper. Andy thought he had to do something to quicken Mom's recovery because the medicine wasn't doing its job. He sat cross-legged on the floor and furrowed his brow. The last time he had been sick, Mom had let him watch DVDs and read to him. Andy knew Mom had done both with no success. His eyebrows were almost touching now. Mom had given him a big bowl of soup the last day he had been sick. She had said it was a special soup made with all his favorite things. The warm liquid had felt like a blanket enveloping his throat, and he felt better after a nap. He was sure the soup was what made him get better.
Andy dragged a dining room chair to the kitchen counter and set to work gathering ingredients. He couldn't remember everything that was in there but knew he had to make it little different to tailor his mother's taste. He started with a large bowl full of water. All soup had chicken and vegetables in it. He couldn't find any chicken chunks in the refrigerator, but he found some vegetables that she used on her salad sometimes. Into the bowl went carrots, a little spinach, and some cherry tomatoes. Now Andy had to get creative. He dumped some bow-tie pasta in because his mom ate that in her macaroni salad. He crumbled some of her potato chips and sprinkled in some cheese (since she loved eating cheese in pretty much everything). He heated up the bowl and carried it with oven mitts to her room.
She put down her magazine to see what Andy was carrying. "What do you have there, sweetie?"
"It's soup, to help you feel better." Andy set the soup on her nightstand and explained his entire process of putting it together.
His mother's eyes welled with tears. "You spent a lot of time thinking about this. You made it all by yourself?"
"Uh-huh. Try it."
Without hesitation, she scooped a spoonful of the soup into her mouth. "Oh, the carrots taste great with the sliced cheese, and is that...chocolate?"
He beamed. "A little something sweet too."
"It tastes marvelous. I know it'll help me feel better." She gave him a kiss on the forehead and continued eating while he chattered on about what he had done that morning.
Day 188: Last Antagonist Profile
Wilma had tried everything she could think of to put herself into a better mood, but nothing helped, not her music, meditations, or talking to her friend. She went to work at the antique shop with this poor frame of mind, and Dustin was her victim. She yelled at the young man for not locking up the back room immediately after exiting it and reprimanded him for forgetting to turn his cell phone off after it had rung while he had been with a customer. She criticized how he was handling a Depression-Era cereal bowl and complained that his whistling was giving her a headache. Dustin was apologetic for every flaw she had pointed out and diligently did his tasks, but none of this seemed to convince Wilma to let up on him.
She rubbed her temples as she stared at the clock. Only five minutes until closing time. She couldn't take another thirty seconds. The smell of old rubber and metal was about to make her hurl. If she left now, she could make the bus instead of waiting fifteen minutes after work. Wilma gathered her belongings and warned Dustin to lock up everything. She was rude to the bus driver as she got on and cut in front of a businessman in line or order to make sure she would get a seat with armrests.
So I've learned that if I want an antagonist, it's not necessarily someone who will have the evil laugh or always tempt the hero to do something wrong. It can be the obstacle in the person's life. It is that opposing authority figure or misguided best friend that is limiting the person from success. Most of the time, the villains are all misunderstood and deserve sympathy, even though they can be selfish and mean to the protagonist.
She rubbed her temples as she stared at the clock. Only five minutes until closing time. She couldn't take another thirty seconds. The smell of old rubber and metal was about to make her hurl. If she left now, she could make the bus instead of waiting fifteen minutes after work. Wilma gathered her belongings and warned Dustin to lock up everything. She was rude to the bus driver as she got on and cut in front of a businessman in line or order to make sure she would get a seat with armrests.
So I've learned that if I want an antagonist, it's not necessarily someone who will have the evil laugh or always tempt the hero to do something wrong. It can be the obstacle in the person's life. It is that opposing authority figure or misguided best friend that is limiting the person from success. Most of the time, the villains are all misunderstood and deserve sympathy, even though they can be selfish and mean to the protagonist.
Day 187: A Father's Jealousy
Should be Day 205.
After I found out my wife was pregnant, I told her I wanted it to be a girl, an innocent sweet carbon copy of her mother. It turned out to be a boy, and another boy after that, and a third lad after him. I loved my sons dearly, but I still wanted that little girl. When I finally did get her, I was determined not to let anyone or anything hurt her. A foolish promise, I know, but I had to try.
When Dennis first came over to the house, I couldn't figure what Julia saw in him. His phone was out half the time I was talking to him, he slouched, he didn't use proper English, and he had a cocky attitude. Certainly not the type of man I had intended for my daughter. Julia didn't care about any of that.
It was easy to keep them from seeing each other the first time. I told Julia we had a family evening all planned out, and she simply couldn't go on a date. She was peeved, but she came along. The next time he called the house, I conveniently forgot to relay the message that he had called to give. Julia sensed that I didn't like Dennis, and she started to side more with Dennis and hate me. She stopped talking to me at dinner and wouldn't watch our favorite TV show together. I couldn't force her to stay inside on the weekends, but I voiced my low opinion of Dennis. Bitter words were exchanged. She seemed to have an answer for everything wrong I had to say about him. I could see that it was tearing our relationship apart. Not allowing Julia to get hurt by that buffoon of a boyfriend was an acceptable trade, had my plans worked. At the end of it all, Julia left a week after her eighteenth birthday to live with Dennis, leaving my pride and I to ourselves. I don't regret what I said or did. Dennis' irresponsibility will catch up to them, and then they'll be sorry. I'll open my arms wide for her when she comes.
After I found out my wife was pregnant, I told her I wanted it to be a girl, an innocent sweet carbon copy of her mother. It turned out to be a boy, and another boy after that, and a third lad after him. I loved my sons dearly, but I still wanted that little girl. When I finally did get her, I was determined not to let anyone or anything hurt her. A foolish promise, I know, but I had to try.
When Dennis first came over to the house, I couldn't figure what Julia saw in him. His phone was out half the time I was talking to him, he slouched, he didn't use proper English, and he had a cocky attitude. Certainly not the type of man I had intended for my daughter. Julia didn't care about any of that.
It was easy to keep them from seeing each other the first time. I told Julia we had a family evening all planned out, and she simply couldn't go on a date. She was peeved, but she came along. The next time he called the house, I conveniently forgot to relay the message that he had called to give. Julia sensed that I didn't like Dennis, and she started to side more with Dennis and hate me. She stopped talking to me at dinner and wouldn't watch our favorite TV show together. I couldn't force her to stay inside on the weekends, but I voiced my low opinion of Dennis. Bitter words were exchanged. She seemed to have an answer for everything wrong I had to say about him. I could see that it was tearing our relationship apart. Not allowing Julia to get hurt by that buffoon of a boyfriend was an acceptable trade, had my plans worked. At the end of it all, Julia left a week after her eighteenth birthday to live with Dennis, leaving my pride and I to ourselves. I don't regret what I said or did. Dennis' irresponsibility will catch up to them, and then they'll be sorry. I'll open my arms wide for her when she comes.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Day 186: Female Interloper
Yesterday at lunch, Margaret was complaining to me about her boyfriend drama again. I kept drinking my ice tea and chewing my sub so I wouldn't be obligated to give my opinion often. I'm not sure if I would have had enough time to have a word in edgewise, anyways. I could have choked on a piece of onion and she would have finished her story before checking to see if I was still breathing. There was a glimmer of hope in the dusty narrative she was relating to me. Durvin was leaving for a conference in Raleigh next week. Taking into consideration the last encounter I had with Durvin ended in our boss transferring me to another department because Durvin claimed he couldn't trust me, it didn't surprise me that Durvin didn't see fit to tell me about his trip. This gave me the perfect opportunity to continue my office work undisturbed. Durvin had every right not to trust me. With him gone, there would be no one walking in on me while I was hacking into the company's employee files. I was almost finished gathering all the information I needed to frame Durvin for the money I had stolen. It would serve him right for all the needless tasks he had ordered me to do when I first started working at Junction International. Durvin gravely underestimated my potential, and he would live to regret it. I was tempted to throw a couple grand in Margaret's bank account too, but that was no way to treat your unsuspecting informant.
Day 185: Lover of Evil
Should be Day 204. I wanted
to work on my antagonists. I always picture them as the "villain" in
the story, but some characters can just be person that hinders or
clashes with the protagonist. He's not necessarily evil. I want to try
practicing writing all types.
Today in my office one of my managers came to see me, asking how I intended to deal with one of our sales representatives for repeatedly showing up late for work and slowing down productivity in the workplace. I promptly fired both of them. It's his own problem. He should have dealt with it. I don't need people who can't think for themselves.
My girlfriend left me on Saturday, and she has already gotten together with my ex-best friend and former business partner Larry. Larry and I went to college together and mingled in the same social circles. I suppose that's how we became friends so quickly. With his connections with the stock market, I felt combining forces with him would be a shrewd business move for both of us, but he betrayed my company by giving tips to my rival. He had the audacity to show up at my mom's Christmas party, probably to meet more potential business associates.
Jennifer and I were never close. She hung out with her friends most of the time, and when I wanted her to show up in front of clients or appear at a social function with me, she willingly appeared. She's the daughter of the owner of Glasnout Technology, so she always showed up in the finest clothes. Sadly, no plastic surgeon can fix the nose she was born with. At least there were other women I could socialize with at those parties. Jennifer wasn't too happy when she found that out though. She didn't buy my argument that we weren't married yet, so I could hang out with whomever I pleased. No matter. I'm meeting Beverly tonight for drinks.
Today in my office one of my managers came to see me, asking how I intended to deal with one of our sales representatives for repeatedly showing up late for work and slowing down productivity in the workplace. I promptly fired both of them. It's his own problem. He should have dealt with it. I don't need people who can't think for themselves.
My girlfriend left me on Saturday, and she has already gotten together with my ex-best friend and former business partner Larry. Larry and I went to college together and mingled in the same social circles. I suppose that's how we became friends so quickly. With his connections with the stock market, I felt combining forces with him would be a shrewd business move for both of us, but he betrayed my company by giving tips to my rival. He had the audacity to show up at my mom's Christmas party, probably to meet more potential business associates.
Jennifer and I were never close. She hung out with her friends most of the time, and when I wanted her to show up in front of clients or appear at a social function with me, she willingly appeared. She's the daughter of the owner of Glasnout Technology, so she always showed up in the finest clothes. Sadly, no plastic surgeon can fix the nose she was born with. At least there were other women I could socialize with at those parties. Jennifer wasn't too happy when she found that out though. She didn't buy my argument that we weren't married yet, so I could hang out with whomever I pleased. No matter. I'm meeting Beverly tonight for drinks.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Day 184: As the Deer Pants
She walked gently, hoof before dainty hoof,
Sniffing the ground around her.
It was a passive hunt.
There was something she needed
But it could wait.
The flowers could blossom without her.
Her rough tongue swooped over the cracked lips.
Her search was more ardent now.
Clambering over the highest rocks,
Stooping at the lowest crevice the earth made.
Relief could be found no where
And the sun slipped behind the clouds.
The doe was in madness now.
Her throat was woolen moss,
Her tongue a piece of bark,
Her mouth, as dry as the earth
That had filled it before.
Dirt crumbled under her hoofs.
The animal's ears perked up
At the echo of trickling heard
Beyond that grove of trees.
The moist, supple tongue swept over her lips
Like a blanket, forever sealing in the joy she had found.
The water glistened in the sunlight.
Inspired from Psalm 42:1, "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God."
Sniffing the ground around her.
It was a passive hunt.
There was something she needed
But it could wait.
The flowers could blossom without her.
Her rough tongue swooped over the cracked lips.
Her search was more ardent now.
Clambering over the highest rocks,
Stooping at the lowest crevice the earth made.
Relief could be found no where
And the sun slipped behind the clouds.
The doe was in madness now.
Her throat was woolen moss,
Her tongue a piece of bark,
Her mouth, as dry as the earth
That had filled it before.
Dirt crumbled under her hoofs.
The animal's ears perked up
At the echo of trickling heard
Beyond that grove of trees.
The moist, supple tongue swept over her lips
Like a blanket, forever sealing in the joy she had found.
The water glistened in the sunlight.
Inspired from Psalm 42:1, "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God."
Day 183: Loss
It should be 200 today. I'm getting close to being caught up.
Can you feel that? The empty chasm deep inside my heart. It's the feeling that I would do anything to shake, but it follows me around. I don't constantly feel it's presence to the same extent. Sometimes it haunts my every thoughts, distracting me from being able to do anything. Other times it's just a whisper following me, causing enough discomfort to make me feel sluggish. That swirling vortex of sorrow tries with all its might to suck me towards its pit of despair. My willpower weakens in the stuggle to avoid it.
I also feel a sense of indignation. This weighty chain of mail has robbed me of something delicate, a rose I had worked hard to nurture for years, and it was plucked carelessly by one so callous as to be indifferent to the nature at which I soul has fallen now without that hope inside of me flickering on.
How can I cope with this loss? A loss of laughter, childhood, friendship, innocence, of a tender love. Most of all it is a loss of potential, of what could have been. How can my eyes see past that widening gap between the fallen state I am at now with the light of love moving farther and farther away? I feel numb with the cold it has left me.
But Jesus is the answer to my problems. Whether there are divots in the road or gorges across my horizon, Jesus can fill all those empty holes better than anything on this earth can. He stands out because He is the only eternal thing. To the extent of sorrow I feel that's how largely He will make my heart leap for joy. Often on the unexpected path, He will bring in new people or rejuvenate the old ones to make my life whole again, and even better than before. But He won't make these repairs for free. He only requires my faith in the future. Trusting that He's the only person that can do this and believing His promise will be fulfilled is quite a feat to have faith in. But I ask myself, how much more effort would it take for me to believe in Him when I already feel dead inside anyways? I can do no worse than I am now. And that embrace, the moment when His peace chisels away all the grey rock encasing my heart. That is a special feeling I wouldn't trade for the rarest jewels.
Can you feel that? The empty chasm deep inside my heart. It's the feeling that I would do anything to shake, but it follows me around. I don't constantly feel it's presence to the same extent. Sometimes it haunts my every thoughts, distracting me from being able to do anything. Other times it's just a whisper following me, causing enough discomfort to make me feel sluggish. That swirling vortex of sorrow tries with all its might to suck me towards its pit of despair. My willpower weakens in the stuggle to avoid it.
I also feel a sense of indignation. This weighty chain of mail has robbed me of something delicate, a rose I had worked hard to nurture for years, and it was plucked carelessly by one so callous as to be indifferent to the nature at which I soul has fallen now without that hope inside of me flickering on.
How can I cope with this loss? A loss of laughter, childhood, friendship, innocence, of a tender love. Most of all it is a loss of potential, of what could have been. How can my eyes see past that widening gap between the fallen state I am at now with the light of love moving farther and farther away? I feel numb with the cold it has left me.
But Jesus is the answer to my problems. Whether there are divots in the road or gorges across my horizon, Jesus can fill all those empty holes better than anything on this earth can. He stands out because He is the only eternal thing. To the extent of sorrow I feel that's how largely He will make my heart leap for joy. Often on the unexpected path, He will bring in new people or rejuvenate the old ones to make my life whole again, and even better than before. But He won't make these repairs for free. He only requires my faith in the future. Trusting that He's the only person that can do this and believing His promise will be fulfilled is quite a feat to have faith in. But I ask myself, how much more effort would it take for me to believe in Him when I already feel dead inside anyways? I can do no worse than I am now. And that embrace, the moment when His peace chisels away all the grey rock encasing my heart. That is a special feeling I wouldn't trade for the rarest jewels.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Day 182: Gun Control
Imagine a government, twenty years from now, who achieved the gun control laws that they were working towards. No civilian is allowed to use a gun without a proper permit, which is very hard to obtain. No more than one gun can be owned at a time. There is a limit to how many bullets you can purchase at a time, and a waiting period until you can purchase more. No household is allowed to have a gun if you have children under the age of eighteen.
The government, sitting smugly in their memory foam office chairs, toast each other to all the lives that would be saved now. No more children accidentally getting shot at home because the father forgot to lock up the gun case one night. No more family murder/suicides. No more mall or school shootings. Hundreds, no thousands, would be saved.
"But how are we supposed to hunt?" some fathers ask.
"You can rent a gun where you get hunting permits."
"But how do I protect my family against a home invasion?"
"That's for the police to handle. And if someone breaks in, there are other weapons you can use, like a kitchen knife or a chair."
What the government does not remember is that when desperate people are motivated, they will go at great lengths to get done what they want. In fact, it becomes like the Prohibition days again, except guns are the objects of desire. Thieves devise ways to create their own guns or pay steep prices to acquire them in the black market. The police are overwhelmed by the increase of robberies and murders as the struggle to acquire arms accelerates into a bloodbath. The already small police force is stretched thin with the extra patrols and arrests that need made. New gangs and illegal arms rings are present in every major town.
Now the law-abiding population lives in even more fear than they had when guns were legal. Innocent people are getting hurt in the cross-fires of the gang wars, and families are afraid to be outside for very long. Mass public shootings have been replaced by explosions from homemade bombs or knife fights. Does the government expect to outlaw knives next? What about baseball bats or rope? Then more innocent people could be saved from attacks. The government has nothing else better to do with its time and energy than focus on how to control the murderous and selfish tendencies of humans. Watching finances in order to fix the country's debt and training troops for effective combat can wait.
The government, sitting smugly in their memory foam office chairs, toast each other to all the lives that would be saved now. No more children accidentally getting shot at home because the father forgot to lock up the gun case one night. No more family murder/suicides. No more mall or school shootings. Hundreds, no thousands, would be saved.
"But how are we supposed to hunt?" some fathers ask.
"You can rent a gun where you get hunting permits."
"But how do I protect my family against a home invasion?"
"That's for the police to handle. And if someone breaks in, there are other weapons you can use, like a kitchen knife or a chair."
What the government does not remember is that when desperate people are motivated, they will go at great lengths to get done what they want. In fact, it becomes like the Prohibition days again, except guns are the objects of desire. Thieves devise ways to create their own guns or pay steep prices to acquire them in the black market. The police are overwhelmed by the increase of robberies and murders as the struggle to acquire arms accelerates into a bloodbath. The already small police force is stretched thin with the extra patrols and arrests that need made. New gangs and illegal arms rings are present in every major town.
Now the law-abiding population lives in even more fear than they had when guns were legal. Innocent people are getting hurt in the cross-fires of the gang wars, and families are afraid to be outside for very long. Mass public shootings have been replaced by explosions from homemade bombs or knife fights. Does the government expect to outlaw knives next? What about baseball bats or rope? Then more innocent people could be saved from attacks. The government has nothing else better to do with its time and energy than focus on how to control the murderous and selfish tendencies of humans. Watching finances in order to fix the country's debt and training troops for effective combat can wait.
Day 181: Is It Fair?
Should be Day 198. This is inspired by a few news articles I read recently. http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/07/16/19504645-body-of-missing-louisiana-6-year-old-girl-found-in-trash-bin?lite= http://worldnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/07/17/19516392-at-least-20-kids-die-after-eating-free-school-lunch-in-india?lite&ocid=msnhp&pos=5 http://worldnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/07/17/19516392-at-least-20-kids-die-after-eating-free-school-lunch-in-india?lite&ocid=msnhp&pos=5
Is it fair that some should live and some should die?
Is it fair that a bright-eyed, friendly girl of six
Should be robbed of her exhuberance and zest for life
And leave her mother stricken with grief
While another woman no more than sixteen,
Still a girl indeed, should be deciding on whether
she should have this baby,
Because she and her boyfriend took it too far one night?
Is it fair that a father works hard all day
And can never seem to provide enough food for his family
And the one time that he takes a free meal offered for his child,
His only son dies from food poisoning?
On the other side of the globe,
An equally hard-working man buy organic food
For his finicky child to eat, and caters
To every craving he whines about.
Is it fair that a World War II veteran should die
From a simple infection that could have been prevented,
Had the nurses not been severely overworked
Or the doctors spread thin with over twenty dozen patients
Yet in that same hospital
The staff will drop everything for one pregnant woman
Who a few years ago held the same social status as them?
Is it fair that some should live and some should die?
Is it fair that some should live and some should die?
Is it fair that a bright-eyed, friendly girl of six
Should be robbed of her exhuberance and zest for life
And leave her mother stricken with grief
While another woman no more than sixteen,
Still a girl indeed, should be deciding on whether
she should have this baby,
Because she and her boyfriend took it too far one night?
Is it fair that a father works hard all day
And can never seem to provide enough food for his family
And the one time that he takes a free meal offered for his child,
His only son dies from food poisoning?
On the other side of the globe,
An equally hard-working man buy organic food
For his finicky child to eat, and caters
To every craving he whines about.
Is it fair that a World War II veteran should die
From a simple infection that could have been prevented,
Had the nurses not been severely overworked
Or the doctors spread thin with over twenty dozen patients
Yet in that same hospital
The staff will drop everything for one pregnant woman
Who a few years ago held the same social status as them?
Is it fair that some should live and some should die?
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Day 180: Paul's Weakness
Have you ever wondered what
happened to Paul? He talked often about
a "thorn in his flesh" he had, something that made it difficult for him to write and
something that caused him much pain and emotional distress. It was his private burden that he prayed
continually for God to remove, but Paul shared that at some point he made peace
with his personal struggle.
“My strength is made perfect in
your weakness,” Paul quoted God telling him. (2 Cor. 12:9)
Paul had been through much
tragedy already, a shipwreck, prison, a poisonous rattlesnake bite, being stone
and left for dead. Could it be that Paul
was irrevocably injured in one of these escapades? What if the stoning damaged some nerves in his
body? It would make sense that Paul
wouldn’t walk away from every problem without some sort of injury or scar to
remind him of what he endured for Christ.
Maybe it was a test to see if Paul would still be a faithful servant
dedicated to writing those letters and preaching the gospel to others. Or it could be me just using my wild imagination.
Even though it was hard, Paul
persevered. He continued preaching the
word of God until he died, and he still followed God’s promptings to write to
his friends and fellow Christians in the churches he had started, even though a
psychical limitation kept him from writing.
Paul didn’t let any little obstacle stop him but persevered and thought
of a creative way to overcome it (asking someone else to dictate the letter to
him). It doesn’t matter how Paul got
hurt or what his personal problem was.
What was important is that Paul used his weakness through God’s help
instead of letting it take over him.
Day 179
The Prompt: You are waiting in
line to see a famous evangelist. What happens in the line?
“At this rate, I’ll be here for
at least two more hours waiting to meet Thad Slessor. This line hasn’t moved in over fifteen
minutes!” I checked my Facebook
notifications, which hadn’t changed since the last five minutes when I checked
them. Bored, I decided to take in my
surroundings.
The line I was standing in was
located in a park and ended underneath a pavilion where the evangelist was, I
assumed, sitting at a table behind a white board signing autographs and praying
with people. The line meandered around
trees, the volleyball net, and private picnic tables where families were have
cookouts or celebrating birthdays. I was
close to asking one group if they would accept five bucks for a hamburger. I hadn’t eaten since anything since the bag
of Fritos on the drive over.
The other people standing in
line were just as diverse to observe.
Some people carried Bibles in their hands, others (families or friends,
I assumed), were wearing matching t-shirts that had Slessor’s name on it or the
state from where they had traveled. Some
people had traveled hundreds of miles.
“I’m bored, Mommy!” complained
a little boy.
“I know, I know,” an
exasperated woman in her late twenties sighed.
“Play with this.” She handed her
son his Gameboy and switched her Bible bag to her other hand.
“Why couldn’t she read him a
Bible story?” I thought.
I turned my head when I heard a
terrible hacking, coming from a teenager of about sixteen. She looked rather pale. I noticed a man in a wheelchair not far
behind her.
“Is your prayer list almost
done?” the man in front of me asked the woman standing next to him.
“Yes, I wasn’t sure if I should
add an end of the year bonus for you on there, but I figured that would help us
buy that hot tub.”
“Oh, good thinking. I have my mother’s hip replacement surgery on
my list.”
“And I added prayers for
sister’s dairy allergy.”
The woman directly behind me
was complaining about how depressed she had been feeling. “I’ve been having suicidal thoughts,” she
said quietly to her friend. “I’m hoping
Reverend Slessor can help me.”
“Excuse me,” I turned around,
feeling sorry for her. “Would you mind
praying with me? I would love to be able
to help you in any way I can.”
“No thanks. I’ll just wait to pray with Thad
Slessor. Many blessings to you.”
“Thanks.” My alarm rose steeply as I saw pregnant
women, injured pets, and people with other injuries or emotional distress. I had come here to listen to an inspirational
preacher, but these people were treating Thad Slessor as if he was Jesus
himself.
“That’s it! That’s why I have been so disturbed. Thad Slessor is a man, not a miracle
worker. There is only one Jesus.” With that, I strode out of line and walked
back to my car as quickly as I could, praying as I walked for the misguided
souls in that park.
Day 178: Listening to Critics
Should be Day 197.
There once was a man named Doug. Ever since he was six, Doug wanted to be an actor. He would watch other kids on his favorite TV shows and think, "That looks like a lot of fun." He tried reenacting different scenes, dressing up in his brother's clothes and stealing his mother's make-up to make himself appear older. He had great fun trouncing around in his dad's shoes and belting out random phrases dramatically.
His parents knew that they had no choice but to get their son involved in drama or acting. They enrolled him in some acting lessons, and he used his new-found skills to land him almost every main role in school plays.
"This is what I want to do," he told his parents. "I want to be a famous actor that someday everyone will love."
Doug continued to work hard at his acting as he grew up and tried out for several roles in college plays, TV commercials, and guest appearances in sitcoms.
After facing years of rejection, Doug finally was cast as a character in a new TV show that was premiering next fall, and he was a star within days of his first episode airing. Doug earned all the fame and success he craved. He had TV and magazine interviews, several fan emails, and much attention in the media. As glorious as it was basking in his glory, Doug was bothered by the negative criticism he was receiving. He felt that he was a good actor, and to know that some people questioned his talents or made fun of him made him question his talents and doubt if he was anything special. He started to work extra hard, for the sole purpose of proving his critics wrong that he could act the way they expected him to.
Doug's critics had various opinions, and it was hard for him to address every criticism without losing his identity while conforming to what others thought he should be. Due to emotional exhaustion and mental fatigue, his performance suffered. It was during this difficult time in his life that Doug's best friend Matt reminded him of something very important.
"Doug, you told me when you first started seriously acting that you wanted to act for God. People can be wrong and often cruel in their criticism. God is the only person that you should be trying to impress."
The young man took this to heart and from then on ignored the people who hated him. It was actually quite a relief to focus on one person's expectations for himself, instead of a dozen. Plus, his unique acting qualities that helped create his fan base drew more people to him. At his first Oscars speech, he dedicated winning his award to God.
There once was a man named Doug. Ever since he was six, Doug wanted to be an actor. He would watch other kids on his favorite TV shows and think, "That looks like a lot of fun." He tried reenacting different scenes, dressing up in his brother's clothes and stealing his mother's make-up to make himself appear older. He had great fun trouncing around in his dad's shoes and belting out random phrases dramatically.
His parents knew that they had no choice but to get their son involved in drama or acting. They enrolled him in some acting lessons, and he used his new-found skills to land him almost every main role in school plays.
"This is what I want to do," he told his parents. "I want to be a famous actor that someday everyone will love."
Doug continued to work hard at his acting as he grew up and tried out for several roles in college plays, TV commercials, and guest appearances in sitcoms.
After facing years of rejection, Doug finally was cast as a character in a new TV show that was premiering next fall, and he was a star within days of his first episode airing. Doug earned all the fame and success he craved. He had TV and magazine interviews, several fan emails, and much attention in the media. As glorious as it was basking in his glory, Doug was bothered by the negative criticism he was receiving. He felt that he was a good actor, and to know that some people questioned his talents or made fun of him made him question his talents and doubt if he was anything special. He started to work extra hard, for the sole purpose of proving his critics wrong that he could act the way they expected him to.
Doug's critics had various opinions, and it was hard for him to address every criticism without losing his identity while conforming to what others thought he should be. Due to emotional exhaustion and mental fatigue, his performance suffered. It was during this difficult time in his life that Doug's best friend Matt reminded him of something very important.
"Doug, you told me when you first started seriously acting that you wanted to act for God. People can be wrong and often cruel in their criticism. God is the only person that you should be trying to impress."
The young man took this to heart and from then on ignored the people who hated him. It was actually quite a relief to focus on one person's expectations for himself, instead of a dozen. Plus, his unique acting qualities that helped create his fan base drew more people to him. At his first Oscars speech, he dedicated winning his award to God.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Day 177: The Jesus Statue
The Prompt: You are in church and you accidentally break a statue of Jesus. No one knows you did it. What do you do?
Normally, I would have gathered the pieces in one pile, go straight to the pastor and tell him what happened, then tell him I would replace it. Too bad I wasn't my normal self that day. Maybe it was the anti-depressants I was taking, maybe it was the lack of sleep or the stress from my job. Whatever it was, I was panicked.
"OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH, what am I gonna do?!" I started hyperventilating as I turned around like a dog chasing his tail to look for a broom or somewhere to stash the pieces. My eyes laid on the dark red drapes hanging behind the tall potted plants.
"Perfect." I picked up the bigger pieces of ceramic and shoved them behind the drapes. The jagged edges bulged against them, but I situated them in such a way to conceal them without anyone suspecting there was something hiding there.
"I'm so sorry, Jesus," I moaned as I traveled back and forth with broken arms, hair, and a robe.
As I finished my last trip, I heard voices coming from the hallway leading to pastor's office. I quickened my pace, tossed the last pieces behind the drapes, and swept my foot over the last broken chips in an attempt to gather them under the nearest pew.
"Oh hi, Kila, I didn't know you were still here."
"Hi, Reverend. I was just...praying a bit to Jesus, uh, God before I left."
"I didn't mean to interrupt you."
"No interruption. I was just finished hiding- talking to Him."
"Good. This is my friend, Henry. He's visiting from Nebraska. Henry and I went to high school together."
"Delighted to meet you." I held my hand out awkwardly in front of the visitor's face, and I'm sure he felt the sweat that was on it.
"Nice to meet you too," he smiled politely.
I twisted my figures in my hands and kept staring at the empty pedestal where the Jesus statue had been, praying that they wouldn't notice it was missing.
"Henry gave me a present, and we were coming in here to figure out where to put it." The pastor set down the paper bag he had been carrying and pulled out a wooden statue. "It's a Jesus statue, carved of wood directly from Israel. What I like about this one is that Jesus' face isn't exactly clear, and He looks simple and humble.
"To be honest," he leaned in closer to both of us, "I felt the old one I have is too ornate for the church. I know it's Jesus, but I felt guilty displaying the statue, like it was an idol or something. I want people to worship the God, not the object, which only serves as a reminder." He straightened more. "I was thinking of getting rid of it anyways. His face kinda scares me."
Henry and the pastor both laughed heartily at this remark. I couldn't force myself to laugh. In fact, I could barely stand. If they hadn't been there to catch me, I would have fainted right on the spot.
Normally, I would have gathered the pieces in one pile, go straight to the pastor and tell him what happened, then tell him I would replace it. Too bad I wasn't my normal self that day. Maybe it was the anti-depressants I was taking, maybe it was the lack of sleep or the stress from my job. Whatever it was, I was panicked.
"OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH, what am I gonna do?!" I started hyperventilating as I turned around like a dog chasing his tail to look for a broom or somewhere to stash the pieces. My eyes laid on the dark red drapes hanging behind the tall potted plants.
"Perfect." I picked up the bigger pieces of ceramic and shoved them behind the drapes. The jagged edges bulged against them, but I situated them in such a way to conceal them without anyone suspecting there was something hiding there.
"I'm so sorry, Jesus," I moaned as I traveled back and forth with broken arms, hair, and a robe.
As I finished my last trip, I heard voices coming from the hallway leading to pastor's office. I quickened my pace, tossed the last pieces behind the drapes, and swept my foot over the last broken chips in an attempt to gather them under the nearest pew.
"Oh hi, Kila, I didn't know you were still here."
"Hi, Reverend. I was just...praying a bit to Jesus, uh, God before I left."
"I didn't mean to interrupt you."
"No interruption. I was just finished hiding- talking to Him."
"Good. This is my friend, Henry. He's visiting from Nebraska. Henry and I went to high school together."
"Delighted to meet you." I held my hand out awkwardly in front of the visitor's face, and I'm sure he felt the sweat that was on it.
"Nice to meet you too," he smiled politely.
I twisted my figures in my hands and kept staring at the empty pedestal where the Jesus statue had been, praying that they wouldn't notice it was missing.
"Henry gave me a present, and we were coming in here to figure out where to put it." The pastor set down the paper bag he had been carrying and pulled out a wooden statue. "It's a Jesus statue, carved of wood directly from Israel. What I like about this one is that Jesus' face isn't exactly clear, and He looks simple and humble.
"To be honest," he leaned in closer to both of us, "I felt the old one I have is too ornate for the church. I know it's Jesus, but I felt guilty displaying the statue, like it was an idol or something. I want people to worship the God, not the object, which only serves as a reminder." He straightened more. "I was thinking of getting rid of it anyways. His face kinda scares me."
Henry and the pastor both laughed heartily at this remark. I couldn't force myself to laugh. In fact, I could barely stand. If they hadn't been there to catch me, I would have fainted right on the spot.
Day 176: Rude Interruption
Should be Day 195.
The Prompt: You are singing with the congregation during worship, but the lady next to you is whispering on her cell phone. You realize it’s a pretty deep conversation. What do they say?
At first, I was irritated to see her on her cell phone. Of all the nerve! We are in the middle of worshipping the Lord, and she can't even be separated from the outside world for an hour and a half. Can't she at least step outside to talk instead of disrupting everyone around her?
I tried to ignore my mounting indignation and focus on the only person who mattered at the moment (I still wished someone would come by and tell her to put her cell phone away) when I overhead her mention something about a "mortgage payments" and "hospital." I let my singing die off and strained my ears to listen more.
"-that we are having the meeting tomorrow. With the chemo treatments, he's too sick to be bothered by our financial troubles right now. (pause) He wouldn't be able to help us anyways. (pause) And what did the bank say? (pause) He won't give us an extension? (pause) There's no way we can get all the money in time, not even if we sell the car or jewelry. There's no other options? (pause) Where would we go? (pause) If it's a job, I don't mind that we'd have to move- Well, of course I mind. I love it here, but we don't have much of a choice now, do we? Okay, I'll talk to you later. Bye."
I quickly looked away as she hung up and stared at the projector to pick up what part the congregation was singing currently. She has a lot more troubles than I thought. Someone sick in the hospital with cancer, an unemployed husband. They probably are at risk of losing the house. Even if things do work out for her, she'd have to move away and leave whoever is sick. I still felt upset at her for not talking outside, but my compassion for her and her tough situation outweighed any bitter feelings I held.
Worship was already over, and it was time for everyone to turn to your neighbors and greet them with a hug or handshake. Normally, I felt a little odd doing this, but I was eager for it today.
I turned to the woman on my right, and even though she was still seated, I gave her a hug. "I'm praying for you," I whispered near her ear. "God will help you get through this. Let me know if you need anything." As I pulled away and returned soberly to my seat, I saw her brush away a few tears from her eyes.
"Today," announced the pastor, "we are going to talk about judging people by their appearances."
The Prompt: You are singing with the congregation during worship, but the lady next to you is whispering on her cell phone. You realize it’s a pretty deep conversation. What do they say?
At first, I was irritated to see her on her cell phone. Of all the nerve! We are in the middle of worshipping the Lord, and she can't even be separated from the outside world for an hour and a half. Can't she at least step outside to talk instead of disrupting everyone around her?
I tried to ignore my mounting indignation and focus on the only person who mattered at the moment (I still wished someone would come by and tell her to put her cell phone away) when I overhead her mention something about a "mortgage payments" and "hospital." I let my singing die off and strained my ears to listen more.
"-that we are having the meeting tomorrow. With the chemo treatments, he's too sick to be bothered by our financial troubles right now. (pause) He wouldn't be able to help us anyways. (pause) And what did the bank say? (pause) He won't give us an extension? (pause) There's no way we can get all the money in time, not even if we sell the car or jewelry. There's no other options? (pause) Where would we go? (pause) If it's a job, I don't mind that we'd have to move- Well, of course I mind. I love it here, but we don't have much of a choice now, do we? Okay, I'll talk to you later. Bye."
I quickly looked away as she hung up and stared at the projector to pick up what part the congregation was singing currently. She has a lot more troubles than I thought. Someone sick in the hospital with cancer, an unemployed husband. They probably are at risk of losing the house. Even if things do work out for her, she'd have to move away and leave whoever is sick. I still felt upset at her for not talking outside, but my compassion for her and her tough situation outweighed any bitter feelings I held.
Worship was already over, and it was time for everyone to turn to your neighbors and greet them with a hug or handshake. Normally, I felt a little odd doing this, but I was eager for it today.
I turned to the woman on my right, and even though she was still seated, I gave her a hug. "I'm praying for you," I whispered near her ear. "God will help you get through this. Let me know if you need anything." As I pulled away and returned soberly to my seat, I saw her brush away a few tears from her eyes.
"Today," announced the pastor, "we are going to talk about judging people by their appearances."
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Day 175: The Embarrassing Prayer
The Prompt: You see a woman who looks pregnant and ask if you can pray over her
baby. She looks at you and says, "I’m not pregnant." What do you say?
Create a short story.
My face must have looked as red as the red pepper that woman had been holding her in hand. "I, I am so sorry, ma'am. I never wanted to imply that you were fat or anything, or insult. I just wanted to bless you and do something to help the future. I was way out of line though. I haven't even asked someone that before. I'm sorry."
I wanted to get away from her before she could yell at me, but a man picking out cucumbers was standing in the way of my escape route.
"How pregnant did you think I looked?" she asked. "I'm not that fat, you know. I try very hard to watch what I eat, but it's hard being a single woman working nights and weekends at a fast food place." She added softly, "It can get depressing."
I didn't think I could feel much worse, but her speech disproved me. ":I'm sure you work hard at your diet. It's obvious looking at you now that you're not pregnant. I have a terrible habit of not watching my tongue before I speak. Please, forget I ever said anything."
"If only it were that simple," her voice quivered.
"You know what?" I asked her, gently taking her free hand in mine, "God thinks you're beautiful, no matter what you look like. He loves you for your heart, and that's how all people should love you. May I, may I pray for you instead?"
Success or failure, instantaneous relief or more guilt hung in the balance for me as I awaited the woman's response.
"Yes," her eyes began tearing, "I'd like that."
I bowed my head, and right there in the middle of the vegetable aisle, I prayed over that woman that God would give her peace of mind, joy, and contentment over her present appearance. I followed up with requesting that He would give her great inner strength in her dieting journey ahead and help her meet her personal goals. I was sure people had stopped shopping to eavesdrop, but I didn't care. This prayer was the most important thing to me.
When I lifted my head up, she smiled through the tears that were drying her cheeks. "Thank you." She squeezed my hands. "I feel better already."
Praying a silent thanksgiving, I gave her a hug. "I'm glad I could help. God bless you."
"God bless you too."
After smiling, I strode in the opposite direction of her. That wasn't as embarrassing as it could have been, but I still desired to leave the awkward atmosphere. I slowed my pace as I thought with awe how God used my blunder to pray for her. It turned out I helped her after all.
Just as I was about to continue my own shopping, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman in her early forties was standing behind me.
"I saw what you did for that woman back there. It was very nice. I hope you wouldn't mind praying with me too? I could really use some."
The pain was evident in her eyes, and my heart started to ache for her, at the same time being even more amazed at how God was still bringing blessings from what I thought had been my most embarrassing situation.
"I'd love to pray with you. Why don't we step off to the side here, and you tell me what's troubling you?"
My face must have looked as red as the red pepper that woman had been holding her in hand. "I, I am so sorry, ma'am. I never wanted to imply that you were fat or anything, or insult. I just wanted to bless you and do something to help the future. I was way out of line though. I haven't even asked someone that before. I'm sorry."
I wanted to get away from her before she could yell at me, but a man picking out cucumbers was standing in the way of my escape route.
"How pregnant did you think I looked?" she asked. "I'm not that fat, you know. I try very hard to watch what I eat, but it's hard being a single woman working nights and weekends at a fast food place." She added softly, "It can get depressing."
I didn't think I could feel much worse, but her speech disproved me. ":I'm sure you work hard at your diet. It's obvious looking at you now that you're not pregnant. I have a terrible habit of not watching my tongue before I speak. Please, forget I ever said anything."
"If only it were that simple," her voice quivered.
"You know what?" I asked her, gently taking her free hand in mine, "God thinks you're beautiful, no matter what you look like. He loves you for your heart, and that's how all people should love you. May I, may I pray for you instead?"
Success or failure, instantaneous relief or more guilt hung in the balance for me as I awaited the woman's response.
"Yes," her eyes began tearing, "I'd like that."
I bowed my head, and right there in the middle of the vegetable aisle, I prayed over that woman that God would give her peace of mind, joy, and contentment over her present appearance. I followed up with requesting that He would give her great inner strength in her dieting journey ahead and help her meet her personal goals. I was sure people had stopped shopping to eavesdrop, but I didn't care. This prayer was the most important thing to me.
When I lifted my head up, she smiled through the tears that were drying her cheeks. "Thank you." She squeezed my hands. "I feel better already."
Praying a silent thanksgiving, I gave her a hug. "I'm glad I could help. God bless you."
"God bless you too."
After smiling, I strode in the opposite direction of her. That wasn't as embarrassing as it could have been, but I still desired to leave the awkward atmosphere. I slowed my pace as I thought with awe how God used my blunder to pray for her. It turned out I helped her after all.
Just as I was about to continue my own shopping, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman in her early forties was standing behind me.
"I saw what you did for that woman back there. It was very nice. I hope you wouldn't mind praying with me too? I could really use some."
The pain was evident in her eyes, and my heart started to ache for her, at the same time being even more amazed at how God was still bringing blessings from what I thought had been my most embarrassing situation.
"I'd love to pray with you. Why don't we step off to the side here, and you tell me what's troubling you?"
Day 174: My Bible
The Prompt: Write about your Bible from its POV.
I'm not as young as I used to be. My cover aches often from all the bumps, nicks, and scratches I've suffered. Yet, despite the outward harm I've suffered, my pages feel youthful still. They are still crisp in areas, relatively clean, and have no highlighter marks on them. Instead, my spine is tickled from all the bookmarks that are constantly stored in me. Four or five of them constantly stuck in your pages can wear a Bible down, but I don't mind too much. It means I'm serving a purpose.
I'm always happy whenever I get taken off the shelf and used. It's rejuvenating to have fingers flipping my pages and eyes scanning over my words, learning what God wants to share. I have so much potential encouragement in me that sometimes I get frustrated that I'm not used more. I know I can help more than readers give me credit for. It's my dream to be in use for the entire day! At least I can take comfort knowing that I am helping my reader now.
I'm not as young as I used to be. My cover aches often from all the bumps, nicks, and scratches I've suffered. Yet, despite the outward harm I've suffered, my pages feel youthful still. They are still crisp in areas, relatively clean, and have no highlighter marks on them. Instead, my spine is tickled from all the bookmarks that are constantly stored in me. Four or five of them constantly stuck in your pages can wear a Bible down, but I don't mind too much. It means I'm serving a purpose.
I'm always happy whenever I get taken off the shelf and used. It's rejuvenating to have fingers flipping my pages and eyes scanning over my words, learning what God wants to share. I have so much potential encouragement in me that sometimes I get frustrated that I'm not used more. I know I can help more than readers give me credit for. It's my dream to be in use for the entire day! At least I can take comfort knowing that I am helping my reader now.
Day 173: Create a Story from a Scene
Should be Day 194.
The Prompt: Try to ease drop on someone’s cell phone conversation. Then write a short story about it.
I was all out of neighbors to eavesdrop on, so I watching this clip from an episode and wrote some back story for it.
DJ and Maggie had been best friends ever since Maggie moved to the school a couple years ago. Now that they were in Jr. High, the girls were at that vulnerable, self-conscious age where appearances and acceptance from their peers were everything to them. In time, the girls would grow out of those bad habits and be confident young ladies who never questioned their self-worth and didn't care what their friends thought of them.
When Marcy, one of the popular girls in school, had complimented Maggie on her skirt while the girls were in the hallway, Maggie felt she had a chance of being someone special. Perhaps if she looked and acted like Marcy, she could hang out with them. With these hopes in mind, Maggie went to the mall after school and bought the same outfit Marcy had been wearing. Then she styled her hair just like Marcy had it and arrived at school the next morning looking like Marcy's twin. Maggie's plan worked; Marcy approached her with an invitation to hang out with her and her circle of people.
DJ felt betrayed. She had always believed that Maggie agreed that they didn't need to be with the popular girls. Their friendship was enough, but DJ saw through Maggie's actions that her friend no longer believed this. As upset as DJ felt towards her friend, she desired to do the same thing she had done. Having two other siblings and a single working parent made money tight. She could have never afforded to buy the clothes, and even if she could, her father wouldn't have allowed her to wear such tight-fitting, revealing clothes. He preferred modest clothes for his daughter, preferably from the sales rack. DJ supposed that her teacher must have liked to shop at the same store that her father did. It was an awful coincidence that her teacher was dressed like her. DJ had never felt worse in her life.
The Prompt: Try to ease drop on someone’s cell phone conversation. Then write a short story about it.
I was all out of neighbors to eavesdrop on, so I watching this clip from an episode and wrote some back story for it.
DJ and Maggie had been best friends ever since Maggie moved to the school a couple years ago. Now that they were in Jr. High, the girls were at that vulnerable, self-conscious age where appearances and acceptance from their peers were everything to them. In time, the girls would grow out of those bad habits and be confident young ladies who never questioned their self-worth and didn't care what their friends thought of them.
When Marcy, one of the popular girls in school, had complimented Maggie on her skirt while the girls were in the hallway, Maggie felt she had a chance of being someone special. Perhaps if she looked and acted like Marcy, she could hang out with them. With these hopes in mind, Maggie went to the mall after school and bought the same outfit Marcy had been wearing. Then she styled her hair just like Marcy had it and arrived at school the next morning looking like Marcy's twin. Maggie's plan worked; Marcy approached her with an invitation to hang out with her and her circle of people.
DJ felt betrayed. She had always believed that Maggie agreed that they didn't need to be with the popular girls. Their friendship was enough, but DJ saw through Maggie's actions that her friend no longer believed this. As upset as DJ felt towards her friend, she desired to do the same thing she had done. Having two other siblings and a single working parent made money tight. She could have never afforded to buy the clothes, and even if she could, her father wouldn't have allowed her to wear such tight-fitting, revealing clothes. He preferred modest clothes for his daughter, preferably from the sales rack. DJ supposed that her teacher must have liked to shop at the same store that her father did. It was an awful coincidence that her teacher was dressed like her. DJ had never felt worse in her life.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Author's Picks for June
I missed doing a couple of these. Since there were so many in June, I am doing my top five.
5. Day 144: Listening to God's Call ~ I thought the plot was kinda weak, but I liked the style it was written in.
4. Day 151: Two People in an Elevator ~ This was a fun one to write.
3. Day 130: Three Monsters ~ This story helped me with some feelings I had. I liked the monsters too. I want to use them again.
2. Day 145: Romantic Proposal ~ I liked the idea of this.
1. Day 136: Jesus' Kingdom ~ This one was comforting to write and fun to think about.
5. Day 144: Listening to God's Call ~ I thought the plot was kinda weak, but I liked the style it was written in.
4. Day 151: Two People in an Elevator ~ This was a fun one to write.
3. Day 130: Three Monsters ~ This story helped me with some feelings I had. I liked the monsters too. I want to use them again.
2. Day 145: Romantic Proposal ~ I liked the idea of this.
1. Day 136: Jesus' Kingdom ~ This one was comforting to write and fun to think about.
Day 172: Spiritual Gift
Should be Day 192. It's funny that I have this prompt today because I was trying to think about the one I might already have while reading 2 Timothy 1.
The Prompt: God has given you a new spiritual gift. What is it and what do you do with it?
In another life, God would make me a more eloquent speaker with greater wisdom. I would be able to say the appropriate words to comfort or encourage someone right on the spot. Listening to a person helps, but sometimes a person's attitude and future decisions hinges on what you say to him.
With a gift like that, I think I would maximize its potentials best as a Christian psychologist. I wouldn't be a psychologist to strictly Christians, and I wouldn't force my religion on anybody. Patients would come into my office, and I would let them talk through their problems as I prompt with questions to continue. My observations would be driven by the want to restore harmony and the patient's peace of mind. A witnessing opportunity could arise.
I could also use my talents as a general advice counselor, someone children could talk to after school or the church members would want to come to for prayer requests. Hopefully, my advice would speak for God to help. There's no reason why anybody couldn't do this now though. Moses wasn't a gifted speaker, yet God used him as the leader of a large group of God's chosen people. He had to speak numerous times, relaying what God had told him. If God wants something said, He'll use the Holy Spirit to empower anyone to be His messenger.
The Prompt: God has given you a new spiritual gift. What is it and what do you do with it?
In another life, God would make me a more eloquent speaker with greater wisdom. I would be able to say the appropriate words to comfort or encourage someone right on the spot. Listening to a person helps, but sometimes a person's attitude and future decisions hinges on what you say to him.
With a gift like that, I think I would maximize its potentials best as a Christian psychologist. I wouldn't be a psychologist to strictly Christians, and I wouldn't force my religion on anybody. Patients would come into my office, and I would let them talk through their problems as I prompt with questions to continue. My observations would be driven by the want to restore harmony and the patient's peace of mind. A witnessing opportunity could arise.
I could also use my talents as a general advice counselor, someone children could talk to after school or the church members would want to come to for prayer requests. Hopefully, my advice would speak for God to help. There's no reason why anybody couldn't do this now though. Moses wasn't a gifted speaker, yet God used him as the leader of a large group of God's chosen people. He had to speak numerous times, relaying what God had told him. If God wants something said, He'll use the Holy Spirit to empower anyone to be His messenger.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Day 171: A New Thanksgiving Dinner
The Prompt: Grandma burned the turkey for Thanksgiving. What does she make instead and why?
All the money that she had used to buy everything for the turkey, the marinade it had sat in, the oil and deep fryer it had cooked in, was all wasted in those few extra minutes it took to turn that golden beauty into charcoal. It was nearly 6 o'clock. Even if Grandma could get to the store right now and buy another turkey, there's no way she'd be able to make another one in time. The stuffing, mashed potatoes, vegetables, rolls, and other delectable side dishes were all ready and waiting on that bird. Sure she could keep them warm for a while, but she needed something faster to make.
Panicked, she opened her freezer and refrigerator to take inventory. She did have lunch meat turkey. They could put in in the rolls and make turkey sandwiches. No, that was too pathetic. You eat that with turkey leftovers, and use thick juicy slices of turkey, not delicate, transparent ones. She could make fried chicken. Chicken was similar to turkey, and since she made that often enough for dinners with Grandpa, she had all the ingredients they needed. It sounded close, but not quite special enough. What if she prepared it a different way? Chicken parmigiana? Heavens now! That needed tomato sauce and pasta, and those certainly would not go with a Thanksgiving feast. She could marinade the chicken in the marinade she had used on the turkey? There wasn't enough time to soak the meat. What if she simply grilled the chicken with seasoning? That was tasty, and it went with a lot of the foods. It certainly couldn't compete with Thanksgiving turkey, but it seemed the best alternative to her.
"Never fear!" Grandma hollered. "The main course is delayed, but it will be coming." She bent down to her cabinets to pull out her faithful George Foreman grill.
All the money that she had used to buy everything for the turkey, the marinade it had sat in, the oil and deep fryer it had cooked in, was all wasted in those few extra minutes it took to turn that golden beauty into charcoal. It was nearly 6 o'clock. Even if Grandma could get to the store right now and buy another turkey, there's no way she'd be able to make another one in time. The stuffing, mashed potatoes, vegetables, rolls, and other delectable side dishes were all ready and waiting on that bird. Sure she could keep them warm for a while, but she needed something faster to make.
Panicked, she opened her freezer and refrigerator to take inventory. She did have lunch meat turkey. They could put in in the rolls and make turkey sandwiches. No, that was too pathetic. You eat that with turkey leftovers, and use thick juicy slices of turkey, not delicate, transparent ones. She could make fried chicken. Chicken was similar to turkey, and since she made that often enough for dinners with Grandpa, she had all the ingredients they needed. It sounded close, but not quite special enough. What if she prepared it a different way? Chicken parmigiana? Heavens now! That needed tomato sauce and pasta, and those certainly would not go with a Thanksgiving feast. She could marinade the chicken in the marinade she had used on the turkey? There wasn't enough time to soak the meat. What if she simply grilled the chicken with seasoning? That was tasty, and it went with a lot of the foods. It certainly couldn't compete with Thanksgiving turkey, but it seemed the best alternative to her.
"Never fear!" Grandma hollered. "The main course is delayed, but it will be coming." She bent down to her cabinets to pull out her faithful George Foreman grill.
Day 170: What If...You Could Change the Past?
Should be Day 191.
Everyone looks back on their life with some form of regret. Some wish they would have studied harder in school or done that project when they were first nudged to do it. Some wish they would have summed up enough courage to say that nice thing to someone special while they still could, while others say if they could go back in time, they would have studied that occupation from the start like they wanted to instead of wasting so many years learning a different trade.
Rebecca is a person who lives with regrets. She's happy with how her life turned out, but she often wonders how her life would have changed, and perhaps been even better, had she accepted the job offer she had been given to be an understudy for a year in London. She had to turn it down because she couldn't afford living there and had a stable job with benefits where she was, although they weren't as job as the benefits the London job had to offer. When it boiled down to it, Rebecca had been too scared to take the job and leave everything she ever knew as safe and comfortable.
She often daydreamed how different her life would have been had she taken the job in London. She finally could say she'd been out of the country. She would have met new people. She could have ended up marrying a man with a fine British accent, granted she greatly loved the man she was married to now. Living on London, she could have traveled to other parts of the UK. And to think of all the experience she could have gotten in that job?! It could have propelled her career to a more distinguished job than the one she had now or could have allowed her to move to different parts of England, or even a different country entirely!
As nice as that could have been, Rebecca knows that had she taken that job in London, she could have missed out on some terrific things as well. Only her first boss could have taught her all she knew about her work now and about life in general. He had been the pinnacle of a hard-worker, and his integrity and shrewd business sense mingled with generosity was a model example to all who looked to him. Rebecca learned about submission, honesty, and versatility in her years working at that company. She uses those values countless in her work today.
Sure she could have had a higher paying job, but she never would have known the joy of paying for her first apartment out of her own paycheck. It was small and needed repairs, but it was due to the repairs that she met her best, lifelong friend at the Home Depot while she was looking for a carpet ripper. He helped give her two, soon to be three, beautiful children. Rebecca also would have missed out on years bonding with her father, her little brother's graduation, the opportunity to help her church fundraise for new choir uniforms and supplies for the Sunday schools and day care, or the blessing of meeting all the wonderful neighbors that had added to her life and helped her through some rough times. Rebecca has decided that she wouldn't have traded away all these things in her life for any job offer.
Everyone looks back on their life with some form of regret. Some wish they would have studied harder in school or done that project when they were first nudged to do it. Some wish they would have summed up enough courage to say that nice thing to someone special while they still could, while others say if they could go back in time, they would have studied that occupation from the start like they wanted to instead of wasting so many years learning a different trade.
Rebecca is a person who lives with regrets. She's happy with how her life turned out, but she often wonders how her life would have changed, and perhaps been even better, had she accepted the job offer she had been given to be an understudy for a year in London. She had to turn it down because she couldn't afford living there and had a stable job with benefits where she was, although they weren't as job as the benefits the London job had to offer. When it boiled down to it, Rebecca had been too scared to take the job and leave everything she ever knew as safe and comfortable.
She often daydreamed how different her life would have been had she taken the job in London. She finally could say she'd been out of the country. She would have met new people. She could have ended up marrying a man with a fine British accent, granted she greatly loved the man she was married to now. Living on London, she could have traveled to other parts of the UK. And to think of all the experience she could have gotten in that job?! It could have propelled her career to a more distinguished job than the one she had now or could have allowed her to move to different parts of England, or even a different country entirely!
As nice as that could have been, Rebecca knows that had she taken that job in London, she could have missed out on some terrific things as well. Only her first boss could have taught her all she knew about her work now and about life in general. He had been the pinnacle of a hard-worker, and his integrity and shrewd business sense mingled with generosity was a model example to all who looked to him. Rebecca learned about submission, honesty, and versatility in her years working at that company. She uses those values countless in her work today.
Sure she could have had a higher paying job, but she never would have known the joy of paying for her first apartment out of her own paycheck. It was small and needed repairs, but it was due to the repairs that she met her best, lifelong friend at the Home Depot while she was looking for a carpet ripper. He helped give her two, soon to be three, beautiful children. Rebecca also would have missed out on years bonding with her father, her little brother's graduation, the opportunity to help her church fundraise for new choir uniforms and supplies for the Sunday schools and day care, or the blessing of meeting all the wonderful neighbors that had added to her life and helped her through some rough times. Rebecca has decided that she wouldn't have traded away all these things in her life for any job offer.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Day 169: Shreds of a Novel
The Prompt: Write the first and the last line to a novel you haven’t done, but want to do.
While I don't have a specific plot or characters to this great unfinished novel, I have a vague sense of the themes in the book. Here's a shot at it.
There is a saying that goes something like greatness is given to some, while others have to work hard at it. I'm not sure if I believe either one. I haven't experienced much good in my life, and I want to be anything but great. Surviving through life would be good enough for me.
As I stared at the setting sun, I realized that I had a long drive ahead of me. I regretted the journey ahead of me, but I knew I had to take it. I stared at the picture dangling from my mirror and smiled, having new strength. A butterfly fluttered in the air as the dust from my tires swirled around it and settled softly on the ground.
While I don't have a specific plot or characters to this great unfinished novel, I have a vague sense of the themes in the book. Here's a shot at it.
There is a saying that goes something like greatness is given to some, while others have to work hard at it. I'm not sure if I believe either one. I haven't experienced much good in my life, and I want to be anything but great. Surviving through life would be good enough for me.
As I stared at the setting sun, I realized that I had a long drive ahead of me. I regretted the journey ahead of me, but I knew I had to take it. I stared at the picture dangling from my mirror and smiled, having new strength. A butterfly fluttered in the air as the dust from my tires swirled around it and settled softly on the ground.
Day 168: Younger than You Feel
The Prompt: An adult decides to act like a child for a day. What happens?
The first thing Henry did when he found out that he was stuck in a child's body until the professor could fix his invention was crawl into one of those tiny motorized cars that children often ride around in. He had kept one around for his nephew, but since the boy wasn't here, Henry saw no reason why he couldn't use it. Without his parents around, and with the professor busy in Henry's basement repaired the machine, Henry quickly accelerated from a stiff, well-mannered business associate to a rambunctious, unsupervised seven year old boy. He rode the red car up and down his driveway as fast as he could, nearly hitting into a tree the last time. The near calamity prompted Henry to try something else. As he hopped out, he felt energy that hadn't coursed through his body in years. Henry decided to try this younger body out and ran as fast as his short legs could move all over the yard. He jumped, skipped, did a cartwheel, hung and swung from a few tree branches and even balanced the railing to his back porch. He had no reservations or sense of danger. He thought he was smart enough to be safe, or maybe his mind was reverting to a child as well.
After he had tired himself out, Henry went inside to get a cold drink and suddenly had a craving for a popsicle. He hadn't had one in ages, but playing in the heat brought back the sweet familiar taste of blue raspberry. Thankfully, there was a blue raspberry popsicle buried in his freezer from his nephew Alex, and Henry munched on it merrily. The cold snack rejuvenated him, and he practiced his moon-jumping, or jumped on the couch. Munching on a cherry popsicle, Henry made a fort with the fallen cushions and read a comic book that had been sitting on the basket next to the couch.
Tossing the book aside to try a grape popsicle, Henry was curious what children watched on TV nowadays. After five minutes, he feared for humanity and decided to try a Wii game instead. That proved much more enjoyable, and Henry spent the next two hours playing the game that his older nephew Brice had left behind. After ten levels and seven popsicles later, Henry had a terrible headache and couldn't stop yawning. He happily curled up against the cushions as he realized that as a child, he was free to take as many naps as he wanted.
The first thing Henry did when he found out that he was stuck in a child's body until the professor could fix his invention was crawl into one of those tiny motorized cars that children often ride around in. He had kept one around for his nephew, but since the boy wasn't here, Henry saw no reason why he couldn't use it. Without his parents around, and with the professor busy in Henry's basement repaired the machine, Henry quickly accelerated from a stiff, well-mannered business associate to a rambunctious, unsupervised seven year old boy. He rode the red car up and down his driveway as fast as he could, nearly hitting into a tree the last time. The near calamity prompted Henry to try something else. As he hopped out, he felt energy that hadn't coursed through his body in years. Henry decided to try this younger body out and ran as fast as his short legs could move all over the yard. He jumped, skipped, did a cartwheel, hung and swung from a few tree branches and even balanced the railing to his back porch. He had no reservations or sense of danger. He thought he was smart enough to be safe, or maybe his mind was reverting to a child as well.
After he had tired himself out, Henry went inside to get a cold drink and suddenly had a craving for a popsicle. He hadn't had one in ages, but playing in the heat brought back the sweet familiar taste of blue raspberry. Thankfully, there was a blue raspberry popsicle buried in his freezer from his nephew Alex, and Henry munched on it merrily. The cold snack rejuvenated him, and he practiced his moon-jumping, or jumped on the couch. Munching on a cherry popsicle, Henry made a fort with the fallen cushions and read a comic book that had been sitting on the basket next to the couch.
Tossing the book aside to try a grape popsicle, Henry was curious what children watched on TV nowadays. After five minutes, he feared for humanity and decided to try a Wii game instead. That proved much more enjoyable, and Henry spent the next two hours playing the game that his older nephew Brice had left behind. After ten levels and seven popsicles later, Henry had a terrible headache and couldn't stop yawning. He happily curled up against the cushions as he realized that as a child, he was free to take as many naps as he wanted.
Day 167: Creatures in the Night
Should be Day 190.
The Prompt: Write a short story using these words: lamp, dish, lamb, cat, and mountain.
It had been raining for over a half hour. The thunderstorm had cut the power, and I was sitting in my living room of my cabin reading a Stephan King novel by the light of the fire. I'm not sure why I was in the dark reading that kind of book on a night like that, but I had nothing else better to do with my time than scare myself. I liked the thrill it gave me, thinking that danger could be sneaking in the shadows. My cabin was isolated in the forest though; the only people that would be anywhere near me would be escaped convicts or lost travelers.
I had just gotten to the part when Missy was face to face with her potential killer when I heard a scratching noise near by back screen door. At first, I thought it was the wind playing around. I continued reading. The metal bucket that I had near the hose interrupted the gentle sound of the rain pattering as it crashed to the ground. I clutched the arms of my chair and looked towards the window. I couldn't see anything, so I turned my attention back to my book.
After hearing a third noise, even louder than the first two, I knew someone or something was out there. I turned on the lamp sitting by the back door out of habit. Of course it didn't work. After rifling through my junk drawer for my flash light, I put on my rain coat and shined the light onto my patio. My planter, my three foot tall one, had been knocked over. As I continued searching the yard, I thought I saw large pawprints in the mud. That only meant one thing. There was a mountain lion loose. I knew those cats lived around here, but they had never come near my house, before.
Why this cat chose to invade my perimeter on a night like this, I could only guess. I went back inside as fast as I could and locked the door behind me. I wasn't about to become dinner. I tried to read my book again, but my anxiety distracted me too much. I looked towards the glass door again and saw a dark figure. The cat must have been at least three feet tall and five feet long. I was safe in the house, but I had to make sure that what I heard was indeed a mountain lion.
I forced my feet to move, and with my flashlight and a large pot in hand, I slowly unlocked the door and poked my head out. My light hovered near the trees in the distance and moved towards the patio furniture. I saw the bushes quiver, and I nervously flashed the light around the yard until the orb landed on a soaked lamb. I'm still not quite sure I could have confused a baby sheep with a carnivorous feline; perhaps the inadequate lighting combined with my imagination skewed the clues to a more fearsome animal.
I was relieved that it was only a lamb. It didn't run when I approached it, so I was guessing it was a domesticated sheep from the farm that was a few miles away from me. Its mournful bleating evoked my sympathy, and I guided the wet lump of wool into the house and brought it near the fire to warm up. I knew it couldn't be left unattended for more than a minute, which is why I rushed to get it some milk in the kitchen. When I set the dish down in front of it, he eagerly lapped up the milk while I rubbed him down with the blanket I had been using the cover up. I'd find his owner in the morning, but for that night, I had a pet.
The Prompt: Write a short story using these words: lamp, dish, lamb, cat, and mountain.
It had been raining for over a half hour. The thunderstorm had cut the power, and I was sitting in my living room of my cabin reading a Stephan King novel by the light of the fire. I'm not sure why I was in the dark reading that kind of book on a night like that, but I had nothing else better to do with my time than scare myself. I liked the thrill it gave me, thinking that danger could be sneaking in the shadows. My cabin was isolated in the forest though; the only people that would be anywhere near me would be escaped convicts or lost travelers.
I had just gotten to the part when Missy was face to face with her potential killer when I heard a scratching noise near by back screen door. At first, I thought it was the wind playing around. I continued reading. The metal bucket that I had near the hose interrupted the gentle sound of the rain pattering as it crashed to the ground. I clutched the arms of my chair and looked towards the window. I couldn't see anything, so I turned my attention back to my book.
After hearing a third noise, even louder than the first two, I knew someone or something was out there. I turned on the lamp sitting by the back door out of habit. Of course it didn't work. After rifling through my junk drawer for my flash light, I put on my rain coat and shined the light onto my patio. My planter, my three foot tall one, had been knocked over. As I continued searching the yard, I thought I saw large pawprints in the mud. That only meant one thing. There was a mountain lion loose. I knew those cats lived around here, but they had never come near my house, before.
Why this cat chose to invade my perimeter on a night like this, I could only guess. I went back inside as fast as I could and locked the door behind me. I wasn't about to become dinner. I tried to read my book again, but my anxiety distracted me too much. I looked towards the glass door again and saw a dark figure. The cat must have been at least three feet tall and five feet long. I was safe in the house, but I had to make sure that what I heard was indeed a mountain lion.
I forced my feet to move, and with my flashlight and a large pot in hand, I slowly unlocked the door and poked my head out. My light hovered near the trees in the distance and moved towards the patio furniture. I saw the bushes quiver, and I nervously flashed the light around the yard until the orb landed on a soaked lamb. I'm still not quite sure I could have confused a baby sheep with a carnivorous feline; perhaps the inadequate lighting combined with my imagination skewed the clues to a more fearsome animal.
I was relieved that it was only a lamb. It didn't run when I approached it, so I was guessing it was a domesticated sheep from the farm that was a few miles away from me. Its mournful bleating evoked my sympathy, and I guided the wet lump of wool into the house and brought it near the fire to warm up. I knew it couldn't be left unattended for more than a minute, which is why I rushed to get it some milk in the kitchen. When I set the dish down in front of it, he eagerly lapped up the milk while I rubbed him down with the blanket I had been using the cover up. I'd find his owner in the morning, but for that night, I had a pet.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Day 166: Reflections of an Old Man
The Prompt: An old man is sitting on a park bench. He has a new paper, a bag of peanuts, and a Coke. What is he thinking?
This park keeps getting filled with more people and less trees. I remember ten years ago when that sapling used to be a large round oak before they cut it down due to hazards to the power line. Hazards nothing. They just wanted it gone because the gnarled branches didn't have an aesthetic appeal. What if they used that approach to people? I doubt people would accept that same reasoning.
At least I don't mind getting up earlier. Young people sleep too much. I'd rather be here at sunrise to beat the crowds to get some peace and quiet.
So much violence in the paper today. Imagine reading about getting iPads stolen. Still not sure I know those even are. Mom used to worry that I'd be held up by Bonnie and Clyde when I was working at the bank. Good thing she's not around now. I don't think her heart could have coped with all the fear in the world now. Here's a section in the paper that never changes too much, the sports.
Mmm, these peanuts aren't too bad. I miss my salted ones, but I've been trying to watch what I eat like my doctor said. At this point in my life, I don't care if I live or die, but I want to see my grandkids grow up and get married. Grace might not be too happy to see me drinking this Coke. "There's too much sugar in there, Dad. Drink at least Diet Coke." Well, a man can afford to have a few small pleasures in life. I'll drink in moderation what tastes the best. Watching my sodium intake over my sugar is more important anyways.
Let's see if the comics have some fresh jokes to make me laugh.
This park keeps getting filled with more people and less trees. I remember ten years ago when that sapling used to be a large round oak before they cut it down due to hazards to the power line. Hazards nothing. They just wanted it gone because the gnarled branches didn't have an aesthetic appeal. What if they used that approach to people? I doubt people would accept that same reasoning.
At least I don't mind getting up earlier. Young people sleep too much. I'd rather be here at sunrise to beat the crowds to get some peace and quiet.
So much violence in the paper today. Imagine reading about getting iPads stolen. Still not sure I know those even are. Mom used to worry that I'd be held up by Bonnie and Clyde when I was working at the bank. Good thing she's not around now. I don't think her heart could have coped with all the fear in the world now. Here's a section in the paper that never changes too much, the sports.
Mmm, these peanuts aren't too bad. I miss my salted ones, but I've been trying to watch what I eat like my doctor said. At this point in my life, I don't care if I live or die, but I want to see my grandkids grow up and get married. Grace might not be too happy to see me drinking this Coke. "There's too much sugar in there, Dad. Drink at least Diet Coke." Well, a man can afford to have a few small pleasures in life. I'll drink in moderation what tastes the best. Watching my sodium intake over my sugar is more important anyways.
Let's see if the comics have some fresh jokes to make me laugh.
Day 165: Fourth of July
This year marks the 237th anniversary of the signing of the
Declaration of Independence, declaring to King George III that we wished to be
free, treated as equals, and not pay the taxes he had given us. It sounded respectable, but it was firm. The men that signed that paper knew they had
told the British that they were guilty of treason. It took much bravery and sacrifice to be one
of our Founding Fathers.
What if Thomas Jefferson refused to draft our
declaration? What if John Hancock and
the fifty-five other men who signed it did not have the courage to admit they
were involved in such revolutionary activities?
There would be one or two other men who would have tried to revolt and
lead a group of men with them, but the British troops could have easily subdued
them. Since few had the courage to
resist, the colonists would have back down, and after more needless bloodshed,
the British would win.
That’s right. America would
still be under British rule. This means
no alliance with the French, which could have prevented their debts to soar and
leave them under the rule of a king.
There would be no need for the Louisiana Purchase to be invented, so the
U.S.
would be much smaller, and we’d have French neighbors (which isn’t so different). But we wouldn’t be called the United States
anymore. We’d still be colonies under
the His Royal Highness. I suppose
there’s a chance we would have gotten free, when Parliament limited the king’s
powers, but we wouldn’t have Washington or Jefferson around to help us draft
the Constitution. It would have come out
differently. That means we might have
lost some of the freedoms we have now.
Our Constitution wouldn’t have been a model to guide or influence other
countries. We wouldn’t be able to give
new lives and second chances to the millions of immigrants who have come
here. That means I wouldn’t even be
here. Our demographics would be much
different, and our traditions and customs would resemble the U.K. rather
than be influenced by the Spanish, Italian, German, Polish, or Irish immigrants
who came here. Can you imagine what a
different world we would have?
The thing about “what if” questions is that God’s plan
always comes about. If those men had
refused to sign it, other men would have stood up against the king and led the
Revolution. God allowed the best men for
the job to do it, leaving us with the best results. I’m thankful for how history turned out.
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