Friday, September 30, 2011

A Day in the Life: Thursday

It's Friday now, but it was too late to post this last night when I finished it.

I'm writing this from my new phone! I feel so special.
Anyway, I decided a while ago while contemplating this new blog that I should have certain topics for posts. For example, I've done a few "What I Do" posts about my different hobbies. One of the topics I wanted to try is "A Day in My Life", where I record the events of one whole day. Boring, you think? I'm having fun! (Yeah, I tried the whole swype thing and didn't look back. You were right, Dad.)
So. My day.
I new phone has an option on the alarm clock where I can limit the number of times I can hit snooze or eliminate the option altogether. For my 6:45 alarm for Thursdays, I removed the snooze.Turns out that I didn't really need it anyway, however, because I woke five minutes before it went off.
Pp been struggling with a head cold that has moved into my chest and brought a cough with it. I woke with a groan. Get dressed, eat, play, with my phone, take the dog out, and away we go.
I had missed church last night. They'd had a birthday party, and though they hadn't returned everything to normal, how they'd left it was better in my opinion. We set up tables, and I sat down to do my devotions and writing. I got a call from one of the moms explaining why they wouldn't be here today. She spouted off a lost of instructions and whatnot. At the end, I said, "You do know you're talking to Amber, right?"
She laughed and said she thought I was Mom.
So I returned to this. Heather told me to stop texting. When I informed her I was blogging, she looked at me funny.
The day progressed without incident. Until physical science, I didn't do much. In science, we did two experiments, one of them with fire. 'Twas fun. I couldn't think of any movie references to link to class, so no candy for me. (Mrs. Johnson gives everyone a small piece of candy whenever someone quotes or refers to a science-related movie, because she's just that awesome.)
After that, I ate some yogurt and someone gave me some KFC mac 'n' cheese because it was "too cheesy" for them. Soon, Mom and Dad, who had been working at the church all morning, were ready to go. We dropped Dad off at home, I got changed, and then routes.
Like the past two Thursdays, I bagged everything because it looked like rain, but out didn't until we were done.
We stopped to get the mail, then got the girls and headed home. I didn't do much for a while. Per usual, Jess and Colin came by for a couple of hours just to hang out. Mom made salsa, I made apple crisp, and we sat down to watch a movie.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

FedEx: Round Two

This month is shaping up to be "get-a-new-phone" month at our house. First Allenna, then Mom, and now me. I was due for an upgrade and, though I despise the forced SmartPhone charge, I decided I might as well get a new phone. (I need a job.) It was due to come in today. This time I was ready.
I was dressed by 9, knowing FedEx comes between then and 1, and while I sat on my bed writing I kept my eyes open.
Just now, the truck arrived.
I walked downstairs, calling Heather to get the dog. This time she did. Hershey had started to whine at the door, but Heather dragged him off to her room and shut him inside. I stood by the door, watching the truck back up into our driveway. The side door slid open, and I commented, "I think it's the same poor lady we had last time."
Heather said, "Really? Oh, no."
When she knocked, I opened the door with a smile. Yup. Same one. "Hello again!"
"Hi," she answered. "Yeah, I was just thinking, 'They're the ones with that crazy dog who ran away.'"
Ouch. So she didn't forget. I laughed and took that horrid device to sign my name. And once again, my 'o' looked like an 'a'. I hate cursive.
She verified the correct spelling, gave me my package, and walked away with no incident. Much to Hershey's chagrin. (I never cared to correct her that our dog is a he, not a she, as she referred to him on her last visit. I felt some small satisfaction in a stranger mistaking his gender. Haha, dog. Small victories.)
Feeling very satsified with myself, I carried my package upstairs to open it up. Why is it that some people get excited at anything new, no matter what it is? It could be a toaster and I'd still be giddy with excitement. (Though perhaps with good cause, because we haven't had one for a year or more.)
A pamphlet loaded with things about my new phone, a bit of bubble wrap, and a pretty little box. How much money must Verizon spend each year just on the production of their phone boxes?
I open the box. (Yes, I'm seriously writing this as I do it. I'm such a dork, I know, but you love me.) Phone, battery and two pieces for the cord, all wrapped in plastic. Way to draw out the suspense.
Yeah, I'm excited. But I'll stop here so I can focus on playing with my new toy.
I don't have any updates because I've managed to post regularly for the past couple of weeks. Yay me!

Monday, September 26, 2011

Runaway Dogs and Badminton

When it comes to our dog Hershey, there are times I'm convinced that he's determined to be rebellious and simply not learn what we try to teach him.
In the four (five?) years we've had him, we've taught him sit, shake, beg, lay down, roll over, play dead (sort of), crawl, and how to identify certain words. But two things we cannot teach him: how to come when he's called, no matter what he's doing, and how to sit quietly when someone comes to the door.
Today, FedEx came by with a package for which I needed to sign (Mom and Dad being gone). I'd been sitting on my bed in my PJ's, listening to music and happily typing away at my story, when I saw the truck pull up. I dressed in record time, pulling clothes out of the pile on the floor, and darted downstairs. Hershey was whining at the door and the Fed Ex lady was getting ready to leave with the package because I hadn't come quickly enough. Heather poked her head out her bedroom saying she couldn't answer it because it's school hours. I waved away the comment and told her to get the dog. She didn't.
I opened the door and immediately felt stupid because Hershey bolted straight for the FedEx truck, expecting a ride. (He loves car rides.) I was torn between chasing him and attending to the FedEx lady. Allenna appeared in her bright red silk pajamas and took off after the dog, and I signed my name terribly on that little plastic screen. ("Is that R-a or R-o?")
So much for keeping my cool. Allenna dragged Hershey back (thankfully he was too fixated on that car ride that he didn't run off), I told the lady to have a nice day, informed the dog that I currently hate him, and went back upstairs.
They say "Don't sweat the small stuff", but something I hate is looking like an idiot in front of strangers. It's pointless, because I'm sure they probably don't care and will soon forget the weird girl in a neon orange shirt and royal blue striped pants trying to chase a dog and sign for a package at the same time and then breathlessly saying, "Have a nice day", but I still get embarrassed about it.
Ah, well. I'll get over it.
We had an eventful day yesterday. (Whenever I say "eventful day", it usually just means I spent most of it away from the house, FYI.) I've been feeling a bit icky lately, with a sore, scratchy throat and some headaches that are in part because of the head cold thing going around and probably also in part because of allergies and my inability to regularly take medicine. So after 3 hours of being awake for routes and two hours of sleep between that and having to get ready for church, I was feeling rather crummy. Church was pretty normal, which is always good. Then we girls spent the afternoon at our youth pastor's. Heather and I had been commissioned to make the meal for the Sr. High afterglow yesterday night: pizza soup. (It's not as bad as it sounds. Just tomato soup, some spaghetti sauce, pepperoni, and cheese with bread for dipping.)
We walked in like it was home, which is how all of the teens have been taught to treat the youth pastor's house. It's kind of nice. All of the lights in the entry way and upstairs were on and I could hear a TV ringing in one of the boys' rooms, but we didn't see anyone. I called out, "Hello? Anybody home?" and we thought we heard Ms. Amy answer from her room, but we didn't hear anything else and assumed she'd come out in a minute.
I went outside to greet their horse of a dog named Riley (a fat, simply adorable yellow lab who likes to jump), and then we stood around awkwardly for a few minutes wondering what to do. Then we heard a really weak voice calling out and realized Ms. Amy was waiting for us to come to hear.
No one had told us she was sick with a sinus infection. We found her curled up on her bed with her computer, the curtains pulled and the lights off, barely able to speak. She gave us our instructions: help yourself to the food and feel free to hang out.
Apparently the supplies for supper had yet to be acquired, and Ms. Amy had to get somebody to take us shopping. So we found some munchies and headed outside to play a little badminton (which took me all day to get even partway decent at playing). Then we went shopping, made the soup with only a few small difficulties, and hung out until church.
After church, we headed back to Bro. Mark's for afterglow. There were only about 10 people there, and we had planned on more than twice that many when we bought the food. But it was fun. While the Jr. Highers have organized playtime, we Sr. Highers catch up on our social lives, which usually means crashing in the living room and chatting for the entire event. Sometimes we may toss a ball around while we do this, or maybe pull out some coloring books (seriously), and on occasion a few of us will do something active (like play badminton, which is difficult to do in the dark). That's pretty much how all Sr. High activities go. I like it.
Now it's Monday again. I have a list of things to accomplish, so I should probably get to that.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Visions of Autumn

Is it just me, or does autumn seem to be synonymous with "wishy-washy"? At least in Michigan, the other three seasons can each be defined by a certain picture. Spring is wet and colorful, with a bit of gray slush on the roads and flowers popping up through the snow, as well as the occasional flood; summer is warm and bright and full of activities and adventure; winter is cold and full of snow and the sound of cars spinning on icy roads or of shovels pushing into snowdrifts. However, I can't pin autumn with a stereotype. Every day I look outside and say, "This is the epitome of autumn" and the next day I say, "No, this is". Maybe I'm the one who's wishy-washy.
For example, the last few days have been gray and drizzly and cold. The trees, shifting from vibrant green to warm red and gold, with the backdrop of looming gray clouds, is one image of autumn. But then there are days like today. I stepped outside to check the mail and was greeted with golden sunshine, blue sky, and birdsong. I like this vision of autumn far better, and right now I'm wishing I had a camera so I could capture it.
Autumn is the season where you blink and it's suddenly there. One minute all is green and warm and the next the grass is brown and the trees are red and the fields are gold.
I've never been able to decide which season I like best. Lately, I've heard people say they prefer autumn over the others, but I don't think it's that way for me. I like autumn, sure, but I much prefer watching flowers bloom and crops grow to watching the plants wilt and fade. Mom grimaces at the thought of spring, no matter what time of year we're in, but I think spring is my favorite. (Considering my birthday is right at the beginning, I may be a bit biased, but still.) I like the rain washing away the snow. I like seeing life sprouting up all over the place. I like the first glimpse of warm sunshine on a world returning to color.
I don't know what's put me in such a poetic mood. Maybe it's the fact that I greeted the day early with tea and cinnamon swirl bread. Maybe it's because I finally, really started Book 2 and I'm finally excited about it. Maybe it's because I spent the last hour browsing awesome pictures on 365project.org. (Like this.) I don't know. Anything is better than the mood I was in when I wrote yesterday. (Glad it made you laugh, Grandma.)
I guess I should get back to writing. One page down, too many more to go.
Which season is your favorite? What's your perfect vision of autumn?

Friday, September 23, 2011

Four hours later... (Or: Writer's Block: My Recurring Nightmare)

WARNING: RANT!

I've been dealing with Book 2 for years now. To me, this story is the epitome of writer's block. No matter what I do, I can't find a way to get over it. Once upon a time I actually liked the story, but now I'm scared of it. It's like I'm being haunted.
Whenever I sit down to work on it, I end up with a page full of scribbles or nothing on the page at all. My mind just goes blank.
I've suffered one serious writing slump for a good year or more, and I'm starting to think Book 2 deserves part of the blame. It's cramping my creativity. So I decided recently that I'm not writing anything else until I take care of this frustrating book.
I know. It's bad for a writer to hate what they're writing. Thing is, I hate hating it! But I don't know how to view it except with extreme loathing for all of the trouble it's putting me through.
Maybe it's just that I'm still trying to find my writing style, and my issues with Book 2 stem from the fact that I'm not really sure what needs to be done about it. I don't know.
So last night I decided to see if morning writing could help. If I woke early enough and forced myself to write while still half-asleep and not thinking completely rationally, maybe I could clear some headway so when I finally became coherent I could get some work done.
That plan bombed.
I set my alarm for 6:30 and woke to find myself too tired to get out of bed, so I reset the alarm for 7. When 7 rolled around, I hit snooze 5 or 6 times before finally rolling out of bed. (Not like this is unusual or anything. I hit snooze a lot.)
Maybe I should have started writing right then, but I didn't. First I took a shower. Then I went to retrieve my computer cord from the girls' room. (My cord is now the only working computer cord between mine and two of my siblings' laptops.)
Of course, Heather had it plugged into the outlet beside her bed. In the wall against which her bed is set. So I had to devise some way to get around her to reach the cord. Meanwhile the dog took my appearance to mean it was time to wake up, and he was begging to go out.
I finally got the cord, started to ignore the dog and felt bad about it, then fed him and took him outside.
Finally, I returned to my room. 8 o'clock now. I started up the computer and pulled out my Bible to do my devotions. That done, I thought to start writing. But distraction after distraction came up.
Now it's 4 hours since I woke up and I haven't made any progress. I wrote a 300-word story for my Word a Day thing I haven't done in forever, but that's as far as I've got creatively speaking. I've checked the mail, eaten a salad, listened to music, stretched, brushed and brushed and brushed my hair, slammed my head on the desk, checked facebook three times, glared at the blank page in my word processor, braided my hair, and written a mini-rant to myself. So I decided to come on here and share my writing woes with you. Don't you love me?
Now Mom's awake and I'm being reminded to take care of the laundry I've been neglected. Just a minute.
....
I'm back. Everything I've read about dealing with writer's block (if that's what I really have) has offered different suggestions on ways to get rid of it, but on two points most of them agree: take a shower and go for a walk. I've already done the shower thing. Maybe I'll take the dog on a walk. Or perhaps I should wash some dishes.
Or maybe I'll just slam my head on the desk again.
However, these things are suggested (except for head slamming) as a way to clear one's head. Considering my mind is already blank, perhaps they'll just serve as outlets for my procrastination. Though I don't think I'll hear any complaints if I procrastinate by washing dishes.
Have I bored you long enough? I'm sorry.
I think my song for the day is "Knee Deep" by the Zac Brown Band:
Wishing I was knee deep in the water somewhere
Got the blue sky breeze and it don't seem fair
Only worry in the world is the tide gonna reach my chair

I'm going to go wash some dishes now.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Technological Achievements, Psychological Adjustments, and a Rambling Recap of My Week

I'm feeling particularly technologically savvy today! I finally figured out how to put music on my Nook, all by myself! (Unless you count the various google searches for tips, but I'm not counting that.) Laugh if you will, but it was a feat for me. Nook doesn't read wma (Window's Media Player), which is what all of my music is set to. I could either download some unknown program to convert the music to mp3 format, or I could download iTunes and then magically convert my music through that. (I couldn't just take the CD's and rip them to iTunes because I lost them....)
I tried downloading iTunes months ago, but my computer insisted the process would take at least...58 hours, was it? Yeah. But this time it settled for 15 minutes or so. Silly, fickle machine.
Then I had to change the preferences in iTunes (which I am not all familiar with) and import music from Window's Media. Plug in the Nook, drag the music to the specific file, and viola!
Applaud me or laugh at me, I don't care. That took serious brain power on my part. (And many, many google searches.)
However, with only one CD on my Nook, I'm up to 88% used memory. So until I figure out how much space I have left and how much space a few more CD's would require, I'm stuck listening to the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack over and over (not that I'm complaining, though I long ago memorized it).
So that's the adventure for the day. I know, real exciting.
I think I really do need to do a recap, because last week was an eventful week! I'll try to keep it brief, because I do have a little thought to share after (the thought being in part related to an event of last week).
Well, for one, I've kept busy reading. Friday the 9th I picked up Taliesin (tally-eh-sin), the first book in Stephen Lawhead's Pendragon Cycle (and pronounce Pendragon how you will...). I'm now two-thirds of the way through the third and last book, Arthur. A couple years ago I picked up another of Lawhead's books but didn't get past the first chapter. I'd been eyeing this series for years and finally read them. They're fantastic! Another epic series that I'll be sad to finish. Yes, I've laughed, I've cried, it's moved me, Bob. Thus far, my favorite take on the legends of Arthur. However, I think I read too much too quickly because soon after starting Arthur my brain felt a bit overloaded and I slowed down. Where Merlin took about a day and a half, it's taken me since Wednesday to get this far in Arthur.
Right. Brief.
Well, Wes got a "real" job last week, so until some poor fool takes his paper routes, we're doing them. Even on Sundays. Oh, so horrible. (It may only take 25 minutes, but it's a long 25 minutes.)
Okay. Sunday was the annual Pig Roast picnic. Another adventure. I was nearly killed, but I don't want to relive that experience.
Tuesday was the second week of Institute, Thursday the first day of co-op (around 20 families!). I still haven't really started my own school....
Friday Allenna and I spent the day with Ms. Amy and her boys (all but Zack). We went down (up? over? somewhere) to Houghton Lake, where a lady in our church owns a cabin. She needed Ms. Amy to put some chlorine in her hot tub.
Well, first we ate some giant pieces of steak while they ran their routes, and then grabbed sweet goodies at Wal-Mart to get us through the two-hour drive. When we arrived at the cabin, we pulled out the kayaks and started up the hot tub.
I've said for a while that I'm not really one for any type of craft that moves on water (I'm not really one for large bodies of water in general), but when I tried kayaking a while ago I really enjoyed it, and I was eager to do it again. The lake was calm and the day wasn't too cold. I'm surprised my arms didn't hurt more Saturday with how long I was out there. Allenna joined me for a bit, but mostly she spent her time between searching for stones and shells in the foot-numbingly cold water and the hot tub with the boys.
We were there for probably three hours. We grabbed some pizza (loaded with meat!) and headed home. A beautiful day.
Saturday Mom took us kids and Jessi and Vanna to the Renaissance Festival. Allenna wore my costume dress and I pulled together a decent gypsy costume out of mine and Mom's wardrobes, but none of the others dressed up.
It was a clear, sunny day, neither hot nor cold, and crazy busy at the Faire. It's pretty much all shops (shoppes?) there. No attractions, unless you count the people that come. We saw Vikings (at least I think they were supposed to be Vikings), pirates, the Queen and her court (how many feathers can you fit on one hat?), giant hounds and little dogs in kilts or fairy costumes, ogres, trolls, fairies, a person in a toga, knights, musketeers, a Revolutionary-period reenactment group that some people from our church are a part of, wizards, elves, gypsies, squires, monks.... It's more like an all out historical and fantasy festival, not just Renaissance. But if you want to spend the day people watching, that's the place to go. If you want to spend $70 on a simple skirt you could make for $3, that's definitely the place to go. And while you're there you'll likely trip over someone's sword or get a puff of cigar smoke in your eyes or be graced by a smile from the queen (especially if you have a camera). Maybe one day I'll be able to go dressed totally authentically, but I don't know when that will be.
Yeah, that wasn't brief. Sorry.
Okay! Deep thought of the day. Well, it was from a few days ago, actually. It stemmed from a conversation with Ms. Amy while on our way to the lake. We were talking about the hot air balloon fest going on last weekend and I made the comment that I didn't think anything could get me up in one of those. I mean, come on; when I'm on the ferris wheel I squeeze my eyes shut and whimper like a baby, and that thing's solid.
Ms. Amy agreed that she had a fear of heights, but she said if she ever had the chance of going up in a hot air balloon, she's take it, because who'd want to miss a chance like that for the sake of some fear? She went on to say how she's been forcing herself to get past her fear so it doesn't keep her from having fun.
It got me thinking. I didn't used to be this fearful. I used to ride the high and fast roller coasters with the best of them (being my dad). I loved the thrills. And then one year I got dizzy while trundling up to the top of a roller coaster, and I stopped riding them.
I feel pathetic when I can hardly stand on the second floor balcony of the Lincoln, NE capital building without shaking, and how I almost cried at the thought of riding the elevator to the 15th floor. Don't even get me started on my hysterics display on the high ropes course at the zoo.
I don't appreciate getting lightheaded and dizzy and frozen with fear, but I think a lot of it is in my head. (That or some part of my subconscious is insisting that I need more attention.) Just like my distaste for high bridges and deep water and canoes and kayaks. For the sake of having fun, I once looked past that and went out on the lake in a kayak, and I had fun.
Come next June, ready or not, I'm going to get on a plane and head to Peru. That's got everything I don't like: heights, that stomach-dropping sensation when you say good-bye to the group, and being in something not firmly planted on the ground. I'm thinking I need to take Ms. Amy's advice and start forcing myself to face my fears so I'm not blubbering hysterically when I don't have the choice of stepping off the ride. I want to enjoy myself, and I can't if something so menial as a psychological disorder called unreasonable fear is holding me back. All it takes is some prayer, some deep breathing, and then forgetting about it.
This isn't really how I intended to write this post. I had planned to make some off-hand remark about forcing myself to get over my fears. Ah, well. None of my posts ever go as planned. Sorry if I totally bored you with my self-reprimand there.
Hey! In other news, I'm back to work with Book 2. There's another fear I have to face: the fear of actually looking at the mess I made with the first draft. It's rather embarrassing, but more so when I consider that mess was made back in 2008! Yikes!
Someone slap me.
Once I finally get past this disaster, maybe I'll be able to really write. I'm starting to think my fear of making another mess like Book 2 is what's holding me back when it comes to my creativity.
Whoa! Look at the time! Well, I have to run. Bible study calls!

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Living with Purpose

I was going to pop on and do a quick recap of my eventful week, but something came to mind during church today and I decided to save the dull recap for another day and ramble for a bit instead. You've been warned.
Okay, where to start....
Well, we had a "guest speaker" in Teen Church today, because our youth pastor is out of town (the "guest speaker" being a man from our church who has some kids in the youth group). The speaker, Mr. Haught, likes audience participation when he preaches, or at least when he preaches to the youth group. He usually asks for a show of hands or input on whatever subject he's preaching on. Today was about serving Christ, and he started by asking some of the kids what they are thinking of doing when they grow up (and on that note, I think I'm finally figuring that out for myself!). A little while later, he asked one of the boys to give his salvation testimony. First "How old were you?" and then "Explain what you did" and then "Why did you do that?". The answer to the last question was, "Because I didn't want to go to Hell."
Bro. Haught agreed to that for his motivation to seek salvation. Thinking about it, it seems when people give their testimony, typically they say they got saved because they feared Hell.
Here's where my thoughts become a little incoherent.
I have a tendency to get distracted and start mentally wandering from the subject at hand when struck by thoughts relating to that subject. (See? Incoherent.)
Let me try that again.
Usually in church services, when something is said in passing that piques my interest, sometimes my mind wanders away from the actual subject in pursuit of that one little idea.
That happened today, and the result of that long mental amble is this blog post.
My mind went back to the day I got saved (March 28th, 2004). I can't say my motivation was a fear of Hell. Hell wasn't anywhere on my mind. I don't even know what started it, just that I had this inconsolable, indefinable fear come over me. I felt restless and nervous and completely undone. The only solution in my young mind was that I needed God.
I didn't get saved to avoid Hell (well, not just to avoid Hell). I got saved because I felt lost and alone and without hope. God was the light in that fearful darkness and I ran to Him. Often still I'm overcome with feelings of hopelessness, but now my heart has a refuge. I turn to God, and I find peace. The only way to truly know peace is through God.
Now my thoughts are a bit jumbled.
The note I scribbled in my notebook during the sermon to define this train of thought was "is it possible to get saved for a purpose outside of not going to Hell?"
I don't know why, but that thought struck me as profound. When a person is witnessing, typically they say that we need God's salvation because it saves us from Hell. And that is one of the reasons. But salvation also brings peace and hope, and it shows us what true love feels like, and it fills that gap in our souls where God belonged before sin came in. Another thing I wrote was "salvation is more than heaven". It's about more than the simple fact of where we spend eternity. It's about how we spend this life.
Okay, I'm going to jump subjects and slowly bring two thoughts together.
Mom spent three weeks in Peru, and then spent a week in Mexico with Dad with only one week between trips. A bunch of people at church teasingly ask how long they'll be home before going to another country. One man suggested with a smile that we put a curfew on them so they don't leave soon.
I passed this comment on to Dad, and he said, "I wonder if they realize that if we aren't going anywhere it means were out of God's will."
This new direction our life as a family is taking has really begun to impact me and define my vision of the future. Like I've said before, this has been a growing year for me in all aspects: mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. (Yeah, not physically. I'm now the shortest in my family.) My dreams have started to change and become more than vague images. They've started to take shape. I still can't see the road that leads to them, but I'm confident that if I keep moving forward like I know I should, I'll eventually get there.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm starting to figure out what exactly I want to do, and my parents' new ministry and helped me determine that. For a while I thought that when I stood up in front of the church at the graduation ceremony next year, I'd be saying something like "I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up." But when the question was posed to me during lunch with a friend last week, I was surprised to learn that I had a ready answer. Still a bit vague, but an answer. I've only ever been able to speculate before now.
All of a sudden it's hit me. In the past few months I've mulled over it subconsciously, and it seems like just this past week or so I was able to clearly say what I want to do. (I know. The suspense is killing you, right?)
However, like giving a description of my current writing project, it's difficult to put into words. Let's see....
Something along the lines of missions support combined with world travel. For a while missions work has been near the top of my "ways to spend my life" list, but I've also developed a passion for world travel, because I want to get to know more about the world I live in than this little corner of it. And then I also want to use my writing abilities in some way. So I have this vision of follow Mom and Dad in visiting, to begin with, the missionaries supported by our church and helping them in their work, learning about the country they live in, and using writing to help those back home get an idea for what they do.
Yeah, like I said, that whole vision of the future is still a big foggy, but I'm getting there.
Here's where those two seemingly unrelated and rather incoherent thoughts are combined.
My dreams used to be very self-centered. I considered every course of life that held some interest for me, yet they all seemed rather empty and vain. Through this year my vision has changed. I can almost look back and trace the change. It's no longer what I want to do for myself, but what I want to do for God. When I consider how He changed my life, how can I go on living as if nothing has changed?
I can just imagine people muttering that I'm wasting my gift using it for missions, or that any of the great young people I know are wasting their talents and dreams giving them to God. But how is it a waste giving my life to God, using the talents He gave me for His work? I hope people stop and wonder why I'm doing it. I want my whole life to be a testimony to the greatness of God, whether I end up across the world helping a missionary (or being a missionary myself) or live my whole life right here writing books or running a cafe or teaching kids how to ride horses. Wherever God takes me, I can have peace knowing I'm giving my all for Him and I'm right where He wants me.
On that note.... While Mom and Dad were gone, I had people frequently come up and ask me how I was doing. I don't know if I looked worse than I felt, or maybe they didn't even mean it like I took it, but a few looked at me seriously and said, "Really?" when I answered that I was doing good. Maybe I was over thinking it or reading into it too much (I tend to do that), but it seemed like they were...disappointed?...that I was feeling perfectly fine even though my parents were both gone in another country. But it didn't bother me. In light of Dad's response to that comment about giving Mom and Dad a curfew, I can agree that I wasn't at all worried because I knew in my heart they were off doing what God has led them to do. Why should I worry? I'm so thankful for the ease of mind God gave me while they were far away doing His work.
So that's almost what was on my mind today. Why is it so easy to form the thought but so difficult to get it out and make sense? Moreover, why does it take so long for me to finally get the thought out? Maybe with some practice (and a more regular blogging schedule!) I'll learn how to share what's on my heart without all of the rambling.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

The Curse of an Overactive Imagination

I had started to write this at 10:30 this morning but got distracted and only just came back to write it, at 11:30 at night, when I can barely think. Ah, well. To start, Mom and Dad had returned around 9 last night from their Mexico trip. None of us had gone to be until 11 or so, and I didn't really fall asleep until midnight.
Around 3:30 AM, Mom and I were up for paper routes. As my siblings were joining the youth group at an amusement park for the day, I took the duty of routes.
Wes had taken the car to pick up papers, planning to then drop off Mom's at the house so we could both do it at the same time. But the battery in the car had died, and the jump cables were sitting in our dead van, parked at Muffler Man and waiting to be repaired.. To top it all off, no one knew where any of the van keys had gone.
Why do adventures have to happen so early in the morning?
We headed to Muffler Man, praying all the way.
Thankfully, the van was unlocked and we got the cables and headed to the paper. By the time we arrived, some kind bystander had assisted Wes in restarting the car. We got our papers and headed out on routes.
By 6:15, we were home again, and both went back to bed. I woke around 9:30 after some very weird dream where a guy with a gun was robbing a bunch of people in the store and I saved the day. Or was in the process of it when I woke up. My last dreams every night tend to go something like that.
I woke to the dog barking downstairs. He never barks unless he's upset, and usually when he barks inside it's because someone is teasing him. I knew Mom and Dad weren't up, so I went to investigate (and as I'm leaving my room I hear the text message alert from my phone: Mom asking me to make the dog stop).
Hershey was standing by the front door, half-barking, half-growling. Peeking outside, I saw a brown truck parked outside our neighbor's house. I tell the dog to hush and continue to peer through the translucent glass in the door. Nothing happening. Still, my ridiculous imagination was already going to work running through a hundred different solutions.
Then a bright blue truck streaks by and parks in front of the neighbors on our other side. Hershey promptly moves to the window to whine. A lady gets out and unloads some stuff from her truck. Then minivan pulls up behind her.
In many ways this overactive imagination of mine is a good thing, considering I'm a writer. But it never stops working, and usually in relation to real life it tends toward pessimism. Rather irritating. I'd already witnessed cars driving slowly up and down the street over the last few days and become sufficiently unnerved, and then this.
I'm too embarassed to tell you what was going through my head at this moment.
I plead insanity. My mind was clearly not coherent.
And then the carriage appeared.
Yep.
A literal horse-drawn carriage loaded with ordinary people just rolled right on by.
What would you think after witnessing this display? Probably something sane, like my mother suggested as soon as she appeared to ask why the dog was still being noisy. Me, I want to know where the carriage came from, because it was coming from the dead-end side of the road where guardrails would have prevented it from coming through the park. Mom's totally unfazed.
Turns out the church at the end of the road was having some giant rummage sale and the carriage was part of the event. When I had stepped out of the room to grab something in the kitchen, the carriage had come down the street unnoticed by me and so seemed to magically appear when I returned.
I love my imagination. I love being able to create without any effort. But I am often ashamed of the sort of ideas that pop into my head. It's not wonder I have psychotic dreams. For the sake of my sanity and that of those around me, I pray God shows me how to put this creativity to really good use, or I'm in trouble.
Well, it's late and my mind is again becoming a drowsy mushball, so I'll stop here.

Monday, September 5, 2011

What I Do: Reading and Writing

Today on facebook, Grandma asked Heather what our family was doing for the holiday. To start, Mom and Dad left around 1 this morning, bound for a week-long trip to Mexico. Aside from that, the day was laid out like any normal Monday, with the absence of Bible study tonight. Heather mused about how we would all spend our days. She for one would be at a friend's house, but the rest of us would probably carry on like nothing was different. She gave examples for what the other two would do, and when she got to me, she paused, shrugged, and said, "You'll blog?"
She makes it seem like I do that often. As if.
As a matter of fact, I spent the better part of my day reading. I even started to write something like a review on the book for my post today, but decided against it. I don't want to bore you. But I still will mention it. (It was the only real reason I had for blogging today.)
The book was Around the World in 80 Days. I'd never read it before. Sadly, growing up, I missed all of the classics except Black Stallion, Secret Garden, and Peter Rabbit. (Well, maybe a few more, but not many.) I'm just now enjoying Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Pride and Prejudice. Sad, isn't it?
Anyway, 80 Days appeared on our hutch a few days ago. I think it's for the middle school literary class/book club at co-op this year (and why we high school students don't get a book club, I can't discern). There it sat, unnoticed and neglected, until, out of curiosity, I picked it up.
There are days when pretty much all I do is read. I'm not one of those steady readers who can be satisfied with a chapter or two every few days. Like other parts of my life, I read in chunks. I'll devour a book in a day or two, repeat a couple of times, then be satisfied for a month or more. Maybe during that time I'll peruse an old favorite or try to work through a new one without significant progress until I am again hungry for a good story.
The last month or so was one of those lull periods. I just haven't been in the mood for reading. I've been trying to get through Sense and Sensibility for a few months now because I started it during a lull and skipped over it to read some new books during one of my quick-read phases, and haven't been in the mood to pick it back up since then.
I'll stop boring you with my reading habits now. So today was one of those days where I simply read. I started around noon, took a few breaks for laundry and supper, and finished around 6.
One of the things I love about reading is when I come to the end of a good book. I feel happy and fulfilled at the same time as feeling a bit sad, and sometimes a lull follows so I can savor the feeling of enjoying such a great story.
I didn't expect it, but Around the World in 80 Days was one of those stories. I read stories first for the characters and then for the plot. 80 Days had fantastic characters leading an exciting, slightly far-fetched, and adventurous plot, which makes it all the better. I've seen the movie version with Jackie Chan, but it so didn't do the story justice. I was even on the edge of my seat at the end. (Well, "edge of the seat" for me means curled up tight in the corner of the couch, giggling like an idiot with excitement.) When it was all said and done, I felt extremely gratified at having been able to share in such a wonderful adventure.
The first time I can remember feeling like that at the end of a book was actually when I finished the Chronicles of Narnia series (which I didn't ever read until around the release of the first movie in theaters). Then, I was terribly sad. Maybe part of it had to do with the fact that Narnia was gone. (Well, you know, in a sense.) Maybe it was because, though I couldn't quite grasp all of the deeper parts of the stories, I did sense them, and I felt a little lost knowing they were over. I don't know. But I literally felt like moping when I finished The Last Battle. True story.
I love that feeling. And yes, I actually was going somewhere with this.
There are times when I've considered giving up writing. Especially in the last year or a little more, I have seriously though about setting it aside. But I never can do it. Part of it is because writing is a part of me. I can't suppress it, I can't ignore it. No matter what I do, deep down I will always keep on writing. I will always feel the urge to write down that bright idea or that character sketch or that quote.
In many ways, I write for the same reason I read. I do it for the rush of excitement, the turmoil, the breathless moments when I don't know what will happen next, the pure joy I feel when it all comes to a close.
But I also keep on writing for a dream. A dream that one day, one of my stories will touch even one reader in the same way that my favorite books have touched me. I write because I want to pass on that mingling of fulfillment and sorrow when the story comes to a close.
I want to impact people. God gave me the gift of writing like He gave me the desire to impact those I come in contact with. If the contact is through the written word, then I will know I've accomplished something. So I keep writing, because it's what I know to do. And I keep reading so I remember the breathlessness.

Friday, September 2, 2011

That is not the recommended way to prepare rice...

Anyone who knows me fairly well knows I have a poor memory. Perhaps it's more than that, but to make things simple I say it's memory problems. (Also, one of life's ironies: needing to remember to take memory enhancing vitamins. Just saying.)
It might be forgetting to turn of the sprinkler for the garden or misplacing my phone (the most popular). It's not uncommon to see me suddenly jump up, muttering to myself, and dart away, or to hear me pound down the stairs shouting my dismay. (Of course, the latter could be because I just dropped my phone off the roof...)
Today it was rice. I have a bad enough habit with food as it is. I'm almost deaf to timers, and if I get distracted with some interesting book or movie or the like, I zone out everything, even the horrid smell of something burning, which is why it's best I don't leave the kitchen while food is on.
Rice should be easy. Put it in water, boil it, then cover and simmer for a good half hour or more. What's so difficult about that?
Right.
Mom called and asked me to make up a bunch for her, so I pulled out our largest pot and put in 5 or 6 cups of rice and set it on high to boil. Then I wandered away to finish a movie. I got distracted browsing barnesandnoble.com and accessories for books. I didn't take much notice for the burning smell arising from the kitchen. It wasn't until Allenna made a comment that it all came rushing back to me, and the jump-up-and-dart-away-mumbling routine began.
I know what terrible things can happen if rice is left on the heat too long, and I had given the whole huge batch up for lost before I reached the stove. But no! Maybe it wasn't as long as I'd thought. Sure, it was smoking and stinking up the whole kitchen, but the rice wasn't dry yet.
I grabbed the pot and pulled it off the burner, then flicked the switch to turn off the burner itself. Upon further examination I discovered that the only burnt rice was at the bottom. Pretty much all of it was almost perfectly cooked. Yeah! Not too dry, not mushy. Talk about miracles.
Is it weird that I then became weak with relief? I'll be honest, actually forgetting things is only half of what bothers me. What really gets to me are those horrid disapproving looks from the people who witness my memory blunders: shaking heads and severely angled brows and mouths that convey hopelessness better than a single word could. You'd think that alone would perk up my memory.
Now I'm coughing back the stench of burnt rice and laughing at myself. I'm also wondering if enough of this blunders will ever teach me. Or maybe it's time to buck up and down a couple Omega-3 tablets a day. I would prefer fish, but I'd probably burn it half the time....