Music.

Standin' in the rain

With his head hung low

Couldn't get a ticket,

It was a sold out show.

Heard the roar of the crowd

He could picture the scene

Put his head to the wall

And like a distant scream

He heard one guitar

Just blew him away

Saw stars in his eyes

And the very next day

He bought a beat up six string

In a secondhand store.

Didn't know how to play it

But he knew for sure

 That one guitar

Felt good in his hands.

--Jukebox Hero, by Foreigner.  

That one guitar. The roar of metal and noise and vibration that reached to the man's heart. Stars in his eyes. That one guitar, like a distant scream. Just blew him away.

Absolutely spectacular. 

 Jukebox Hero makes me remember how music reaches to the very soul of the person listening. It makes me remember how the fierce, aggressive, passionate style of rock is an amazing work of art. The power of one sound changed the man's life--his whole life. That is awe-inspiring. Music brings me such joy--often I'll listen and that one guitar will suddenly penetrate my heart. My head will go back and I'll laugh in pure ecstasy. Music. 

What a gift. 

When I am down, and Oh, my soul's so weary;

When troubles come, and my heart burdened be

Then I am still and sit here in the silence,

Until you come and sit awhile with me. 

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up, to stand of stormy seas

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up...to more than I can be. 

--You Raise Me Up, hymn

I don't understand it. How mere sounds have the power to make people laugh, cry, dance--it will always be a mystery. I just know what is. And I see a stunning tableau of light fighting dark, joy conquering sadness, and the human heart bursting. Someday, someday, this battle called life will be over. Then we'll see what true joy looks like, and it will resonate in our very souls like the notes of fire we call music. 

I guess I was feeling philosophic. Hope y'all don't mind. 

What next?

       In reality, I am a little girl wearing pigtails that clings to her mother's hand in fright. I pretend to be mature, strong, independant, but...some things have to be a pretense before they become reality. I won't say I'm unable.
       This whole college deal makes me feel like a twelve-year-old who walks into a bar and orders a drink. Very small, on that barstool of life. But I can't pretend--I just have to believe in myself. And that (for me, at least) is akin to climbing mount Everest. With no oxygen tank. But...I won't have to do it alone.
       I fell out of my mother's nest rather suddenly a few weeks ago and began to enter a stage in my life with absolutely no supervision. "FFREEDOOMMM!!"
That was the jist of my thoughts. Heh. I squeaked it with eyes wide with fright, as I boarded the bus headed towards independent education. Frankly, I'm scared. The responsibilities and experiences of adulthood are in view...just not at hand.
       So. What next? I have so many dreams piled up in my heart, and yet I know most of them will be thought of fondly and then put aside for later. I have already had to chose between dreams, and I have come to terms with it. But...I still dream of being able to follow all my dreams. What's going to happen? Where will the Lord take me? I can say with an excited whisper, "I...don't...know." I'm just a fledgling, with wings not yet tried, still clinging to a branch and looking out onto the most beautiful thing--the world spread beneath my feet. But soon, very soon, I'll feel the wind on my face, lifting under my wings, and I'll fly to places I've never dreamed of. With a guiding hand in my own, loving family gathered around me, and friends to share in my escapades, I sit on that branch. Turns out, it holds more scrapes and adventures that I thought.
       What Next. 
     
     

A snippet of stuff

I stared at the horse's back. He might have been skinny, but he was obviously not short. But it was nothing new. I had been up and down on a horse's back so many times in the past two years that wasn't the scary part. Actually there wasn't a scary part. What could possibly go wrong? A windy path, gates, mud, flies, and a highly populated trail. Hm.
       It sounded like a whole lot of fun.
       Scary fun.
       Whatever.
       I have the sweetest friend. She takes me horseback riding. I love her.  She seems to have this easy trust in me: Something I'm very glad of. Sometimes you have to fake that you know what you're doing. Seems to me I do that alot. I'm still not sure it was totally wise to stick me up on her sister's horse and say, "here we go!" Thing is, I trust her back. So I hopped up.

      Well, we only got lost once. And I only almost ran a jogger over once. And I didn't fall off. And I galloped for the first time in my life. So all things considered, our trail ride went quite well. Now that's what I call an adventure.

Follow-up To A Moment of Love

I wanted to add to yesterday's post, something crucial that cannot afford to be overlooked: It is not always us being "beset" by evil--sometimes we are to blame. Sometimes we act in ways that have no justification. This is crucial to understand--you cannot fix a problem until you admit you have one. Over and over in the bible, God makes it clear that humans sin of their own accord.
Perhaps something that is even more important to understand is this. Ephesians 2:8-9 says, "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not of your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast."

"it is the gift of God, not a result of works." Boy, is this one a ego-crusher and bubble-burster. I know many people who would reject this completely. It has a tendency to deflate any pride I might have, which I count as a good thing. But it has taken me a long, long time to understand and fully come to embrace this. It increases my awe of God, for it says this: I loved you so much that I am giving you this gift of salvation even though you deserve punishment. God's love awes me. "And this is not of your own doing, it is the gift of God." A moment of Love.

A moment of love

Today is being...interesting. I woke up with all these good intentions, and now I find myself, after snapping at my mother and mentally tearing myself down as a result, writing this post when I should be doing something constructive. For that reason, I'll keep this one short.
     Mainly, all I find myself thinking, "What is wrong with me??" Why can't I act in a way that would build people up and not bring them down? Why can't I remember God? Well, I know the answer. I just don't particularly care for it. For some reason, I do not feel like praying. Algebra, emails to colleges, and thank-you cards are not the highlights of my day. In fact, I seem to be finding every excuse possible to not accomplish what I need to. What is wrong with me?
      1st Thessalonians 5:16-22 says, "Rejoice always; Pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Jesus Christ. Do not quench the spirit; do not despise prophetic utterances. But examine everything carefully; hold fast to that which is good; abstain from every form of evil."
      As I'm writing this, I think I realize that we, everybody, need to hold fast to everything that is good--cling to it with every fiber of our strength, because if we do not we are beset with evil. Whether it be anger, a bad attitude in my case, discouragement, or hate, many things. God, help me now to cling to all that is good, to cling to You. Please forgive me, God, for my pessimism, my anger, my hate. Forgive me.
      I forgive you. My love, little one. 

Story Blurb

      The sword flashed behind me and I ducked, yelping as it changed directions and hit my shin. I ducked again as it swung around and this time, retaliated. The metallic, sharp sounds filled the clearing. Akira laughed as I turned a clumsy, but effective, summersault and swung at her from behind. “My old fencing teacher thought that grace is as much a part of swordplay as the swords are! I don't believe he would find your methods particularly pleasing.” A sparkle glittered in her eye as we circled each other, both panting. I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my back.

     “I’m--not--here--to--impress your old--fencing teacher,” I grunted as we engaged once more, letting my strength make up for my lack of...what did she say it was? Grace? “Grace will not accomplish anything.”

     “On the contrary, I think it does quite nicely.” Akira said as she slid from under my headlock and gave my calf a sound thwack.

     “You are just begging for a good thrashing!” I shouted. Then I lifted my blade high and roared like an angry bear. Kira shrieked and ran in circles around the clearing until I cornered her at the pond’s edge. She was caught. This would be easy. Grinning, I charged again--and recoiled as something flashed by me and tugged at the side of my hand. “Kira!”

     I was unable to slow down in time. Kira threw herself on the grass and caught my ankles. A wave of murky water washed up on the bank as I fell headfirst into the reeds and marsh marigolds.

     “KIRA!” Coughing, spluttering, I crawled out of the tangle of weeds and wiped as much of the mud from my hair as I could. She stood, leaning on her sword. Out of reach of the splash. Of course. I considered getting angry as I stood panting on the bank, water running down every part of me. Then I gave in. A grin broke through my shock. A laugh started to grow. It burst out of the deep part of my chest where it always does when I'm...more than happy, more than amused. I laughed until tears joined the pond water. For a moment, everything was golden--The afternoon sun, the water, Akira’s hair, and our pleasure. But the golden never lasts for long, and it faded until only the memory remained. Kira smiled at me as I walked up and joined me as I turned back towards the road, carrying my sword. “Let’s go back. Have anything for this?” I held up my hand, where Akira’s knife had nicked it. She handed me a kerchief. Then we were silent until we were a little ways into the city.

     “I definitely beat you.” Kira said.

      I, futilely, continued trying to rid my cloak of its excess moisture. “You pushed me into the pond! It hardly counts!”

      “I didn't push you. You tripped.”

      “Oh, yes? Over your hand?”

      “You said yourself there were no rules.”

      “Only because I didn't know you were carrying throwing knives! Remember last time, y--”

      “That occasion was entirely irrelevant. You try aiming at a moving target with a bull charging you.”

       I lifted my bandaged hand. “You nearly cut my finger off!”

       Kira rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a ninny.”

       I tossed my sopping cloak at her and gave an exasperated, but not displeased, groan. After all, it takes two very good friends to enjoy disagreeing.

I wrote that last night . I had so much fun I thought I'd share it here. Kira and Ben are comrades now as a result of their adventuring escapades, and that's all I'm going to say 'cause any more and I might spoil stuff. Also I don't feel like explaining their life stories right now.

I hope you enjoyed the blurb, though.

No title for this one--spoilers.

       I walked in the door sweaty, tired, sunburnt, with sand in my shoes. Usually you could guess what I had been doing--mowing the lawn perhaps, or helping Dad with one of his projects. But I forgot to mention the idiotically huge grin plastering itself over my face.  Mowing the lawn doesn't usually go hand-in-hand with that expression. There is only one thing on earth that could make me that happy. Yup. Horses.
       I know, I know,  its so darn cliche! About fifty-five percent of the world's female population will say that their favorite animal is the horse. I still fit in with the majority. Every little girl gets a bug in her brain about horses at some point in her life. most of them grow out of it. ...I never did.  Every person who has been around me long enough to have a conversation that goes somewhere along the line of "what do you like to do" knows this about me. So I proudly hold up my head and say that, yes, my favorite animal is the horse.

  Normally, this would be a perfect place for a rant about the beauty, grace, strength, and freedom of horses. But even if your brain is the size of a hummingbird's, you don't need me to tell you that. Suffice to say that no animal will ever, ever compare to a horse. That's why I came home that day with a gigantic grin on my face. 

     
     
                                    

Hunting Tales

      Ever felt the stillness of the before dawn air? I'm sure most of you have: riding the bus, perhaps, or driving to some place you must get to at some ridiculous hour in the morning. But I mean really felt it. 
       I remember feeling a rather removed excitement when I ate my scrambled eggs in the dark that morning. Dad was far more fidgety than me--he could barely keep from jumping up and down. My breath steamed as we loaded the guns into the truck. The stars were out, twinkling at us. 
       It was still dark an hour later when we pulled down a winding driveway and set up shop in a little fringe of scrubby trees on the edge of an empty strawberry field. Greg, Dad, Jerry, Joe, and I simply sat, waiting for the sun to come up. The air was so dark, and so peaceful, it felt as though nothing could ever disturb that odd calm. Imagine trying to argue with a tree. Eventually, though, the peace faded away and up came the sun, long heralded by birds singing their morning songs. 
      With the sun came the geese. I'm sure you've guessed it by now--we weren't there just to enjoy the six 'o clock air--we were there for population control. Or to make it sound a little nicer, we were there to bring home the bacon. In feathered, winged form. Eight or nine birds flew in from our right. Greg didn't call the shot, so we let them land among the decoys. Then another flock flew from our right, making an odd picture of stupidity. They came level with us. For a moment, all that happened was the thump-thump of my heart. 
       Greg whipped his gun to his shoulder and fired. Everything Dad had told me flew out of my mind like those birds would if I didn't fire--so I pointed my gun at the flock and twitched my finger. The gun recoiled against my shoulder and a goose crumpled out of the sky with the shot--a hit! I watched the rest of the scene unfold like an awestruck ninny, still jumpy with adrenaline. The guns roared and shot little dots of death into the sky--and plop-plop-plop-plop fell down dinner. The guys did their best to get the whole flock down, but the birds caught on quickly. They were out of sight in a matter of a few frightened flaps.  
       Silence. 
       I felt like bobbing up and down and shouting, "That was awesome!", but of course, I didn't. I didn't fancy being laughed at. Someone said, "Go get 'em," and I walked out with Joe to go retrieve our spoils. But I wasn't quite sure if you picked them up my the feet or the neck, so I dawdled until I could see what Joe would do. Their necks were surprisingly slender. We piled the geese--five in all--in a little heap, and I sat back on my little stool, eyes sparkling. All drowsiness had been long forgotten. In all my life, I will never forget the shock of the gun against my shoulder. 
       Later that day, after we had made our weary way home, and told the same stories over several times, Jerry asked me how many shells I had used on the flock. I gave a little laugh because I wasn't sure what the questions was for, and said, "One."
       "One!" Jerry shouted. "You can keep shootin'. Yeah, definitely use more 'n one shell." He laughed more. I just saw the bird go down and figured that was enough. 
         
        Of course, we got up and did it again the next morning. It was a fiasco, that day was, let me tell you. We got one flock the whole morning and I still felt like laughing. We sat in the little stand of trees until ten or so, just waiting and enjoying the free air. It was so boring, even Dad was up for leaving before noon. Then we heard the honking. Everybody tensed. It grew nearer. Then we saw them--straight over the trees they flew, and then wheeled. Greg had harnessed them with his goosecall. They headed straight for us like little dive-bombers. I held my breath. Just as the nearest two began to land, Greg snapped, "take 'em!" 
       We took 'em, all right. Boom boom ba boom! Noise exploded and so did the flock. Birds fell, some backpedaled furiously, feathers flew. boom! I struggled to reload my now empty gun, feverishly snapping the breach closed. Several of the geese were taking flight. Dad jumped up, complete with some swearing, gun roaring. I scrambled to my feet and fired, the shock knocking my back into my chair. I will never, ever forget that feeling. 
      I will never understand why I enjoy discharging objects by explosion at very high speeds. Perhaps it's in my blood. Perhaps we have a hereditary love of conquest. Or maybe I'm just crazy. My only comfort for that thought is if that's the case, than alot of other people are just as crazy as me. Dad. 
     

Notes of Fire

     Music comes in so many, many ways. This world is wrapped in song. The birds have it, the wind has it, the road has it, the rain, the trees, the city. People make music in hate, love, passion, anger, joy, and in an absence of reality. We listen to music and it makes music inside of us. It brings people close together.
     My favorite part of a race is when the people stand to sing. Whether it be the National Anthem or "My Old Kentucky Home", for those few moments we are one. Thousands of people are brought together because they are all thinking of the same thing. If all those thoughts could be made into a song, it would be more beautiful than anything ever heard, because it would be unison and thoughts that have no malice, no greed, and no superficiality.
     In some ways, music has been twisted and desecrated. But really, all that it is is emotion. Whether those emotions be worthy or not, they are there. And those emotions are passed to the listener. A song that was made with a hearty dose of desperation makes you feel desperate. A song created with joy will pass joy on to you. Music is powerful. Remember that.
    If I could somehow soar to the past and bring back one thing, it would be gatherings where people come together to dance and sing. I wish I had a giant eraser that I could lift it up and wipe away all self-consciousness, so people wouldn't feel scared or awkward to just life up their voices and sing. Together. Oh, what joy that would be.

A sentimental moment

       I sometimes think my pointshoes are my best friends.  Think about it--they've witnessed every blister, every bloodstain, every tear, every hour where I've counted the long minutes to the end of rehearsal so I can run on them to plunge my sweaty face in an icy stream of water. Something in me seems to wilt when we're apart. I worry about them, because if they fail, I fall.
 

       I believe I've heard it said that a woman's shoes were her best friend. This might be more true than many of us realize. However, I tend to be skeptical that any article of footwear could be as intimate as a pointeshoe. Just saying. They are the only kinds of friends that were made to be destroyed every few weeks.

       Well, I'll be glad to have them back. We've been separated for far too long. 

Pinecone

It started with a pinecone. A measly, prickly pinecone. An' it just about killed me.
Now, I'm not sayin the pinecone was the thing that could have killed me. It would take more than that to even put a dent in my hard skull. The problem was, that pinecone fell to the ground, and just had to grow into a pine tree. And then there was a thunderstorm. And...it was partly the dog's fault. He just had to go outside. In a thunderstorm.
The tree fell on me.
Dang.
After a week in the hospital and several months of casts, I came away with a very important life lesson: Never, ever, trust a pinecone.

That was a blurb I wrote last year. Still makes me laugh.

What. A. Week.

     Remember those times where life decides to throw itself on you in it's best attempt to kill you? Yeah. Welcome to my world. 

     The week started just fine. Balmy weather, almost 80, shorts, trees to climb, not too much school to darken the horizon. For a time, I was happy. Sigh. Then, it began to snow. And my world came crashing down around my ears. For three long, sad, days I was cooped up inside a cage of drywall and siding, struggling against a tide of dishes, laundry, and Algebra, stretching out to the light with all my strength. 

     OK. I'm definitely being melodramatic. I know I have something that makes housecleaning and Algebra little ants to be squished ruthlessly. I have assurance that my life will be joyful, loved, and protected. I had nothing to complain of. But it was all I could do to not fall on my bed and sob. Well, that's exactly what I ended up doing. After I had sniffled and wept my way through half a box of tissues, I finished my email to a friend. The message she sent back was, well, a lifeline to a drowning girl. (If I'm going to be melodramatic, might as well commit to it.) What she sent me was a list of God's truths, with bible verses to support them. And guess what. I started to feel better. Yes, God was there, I was not caught in a horrible pit of lightening sand straight from the bowels of the Fire Swamp, and I was ready to ask forgiveness. That's one wonderful thing I've learned about God. He doesn't wait to give forgiveness. You ask, you receive, praise God. 

      I have a bit of advice. I've learned, slowly, that the best way to stay attached to God is to repeat to yourself His word. Here's what Martin Luther said on the subject: "If you grasp hold of God's Word in your heart and cling to it with faith, the devil cannot win. He has to flee. If you can say, "My God has said this, and I can stand upon it," you will find that the devil will quickly leave." And guess what. It works. When you find yourself in a situation of temptation, or doubt, or fear, start repeating God's promises. It's a lifeline to a drowning Christian. 

      My week went from good, to bad, to oh, help! I learned something very, very important, though. Funny how all my bad situations seem to end up good. 

Romans 8: 28
And we know that for those who love God all things to work together for good, for those who are called according to his purposes. 

End of Year Tribute

This year is my last at ESCHEL, the coop I've attended for about four years. Can't say I'm sorry to go. Anyway, all the 10th graders are supposed to write a little end of year note, and I liked mine so much I thought I'd post it here.

       Well, ESCHEL is almost over. That’s nothing new. But this time, it’s the last “over.” Over is for always. And I’m sad. Now, don’t get me wrong. There were those days where slowly burning my assignments in a gigantic bonfire while running around the blaze and whooping like a frustrated Indian sounded pretty good. Is there any sane highschool student who hasn't felt like that at some point between November and April? I don’t think so. But ESCHEL has helped me grow, spiritually and educationally. I've made two of the most important friendships I will ever make. I've learned how to cite APA research papers. I've learned not to puke at a fish’s fermented innards. I've learned that I can write a good essay in half-an-hour (believe me, a two years ago, that felt like walking up Mt. Everest without an oxygen tank). I can’t imagine a better preparation for my life as I enter the new, big world of college classes. So now, as I wave my hand in farewell, I can smile and look back with fondness on the memories I made, and who I am now compared to what I was then. Thank you.         

-Karly Lunda

Psalm 39:7

And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.

Luke 1:37

For nothing will be impossible with God.

The plight of a restless soul, Spring.

    The world waits. The sun shines. The air is a pair of arms, open, sweeping wide in a welcome embrace. Each house has its own shining curtain of water, a private rainstorm. A December world is slowly melting away into April's bubbling laughter. Water, frozen just seconds before, bounds down ditches and off roofs. Widening black earth. Green shoots uncurling into the warming air.

The becoming widens.

    One knows how important this is. All can feel it. The air is welcoming. Swelling . Homecoming.
Of a Joy eternal, sighs the wind. Spring is here. The air so clear, the time of waiting while summer draws near. Ever beautiful.
     Little things are born. Little things stir in the hearts of people, things frozen by a wind that blows not just from the north. Of love and happiness, mirth and goodwill. What a One we have to look to. Who could create such perfection?

     I come back to earth. The ground is muddy, the snow a mixture of what looks like slushy tar and coffee grounds, the buds hanging on to the trees for dear life. Water is everywhere. Creeping into basements, roaring through ditches. Everything is about as wet as the inside of a water balloon.

Do we care? Nope.

   

Throb

The throb of a heartbeat

How to describe it?

Throb. Throb. Throb. Throb.

Like the love of a thing is ripping

Ripping out your heart for love of--

Motion. A throb of

Pain.

Silence.

Standing in the wings of fate--

The curtain rises.

Pressed against black velvet

It’s a feeling I’ll never forget.

The lights blind me across the stage,

No one moves as dancers move slowly forward.

The music swells in mounting rage--

I set my feet before me

Prepare. Wait.

Go.

Tuel swirls around my knees,

Cool air--the kind

only found in large places--

Brushes my bare arms

My feet move me through spaces

Move me to other places

I dance the stage into submission.

Shock after shock shakes me

I feel muscle--my muscle

struggling, striving, racing, diving--

My feet hit the ground time and time again

Shock. After. Shock.

Only after the dance is finished

I realize my lungs are heaving

My breathing ran out of control

Sweat breaks on my cheeks

But what do I care?

I smile--I’m so happy!

We’ve succeeded--we’ve done it!

I join hands with the others

And set my foot behind the other

Letting the applause wash over me,

Grinning like a fool, but not caring.  

My hands go up,

We bow-- more applause

Then...the curtain closes--

All is over.

Silence.

We try to fill the sudden void,

But the emptiness we cannot avoid.

I walk off the stage, making my way

To feel my heart throb another day

To make room for the next set

To stand in the wings of fate.

This day

I spent an interesting and cobwebby time in the rafters of our shed a few minutes ago, battling a huge two-by-four, and getting mud on the ceiling. I'm quite thankful the spiders haven't come out of the deep, dank, dungeons they go to during the winter yet. The shed is almost hopeless. We'll see if I can conquer the dust and bugs before the summer is out. Every day my jeans loose a little more cloth around the knees--what will win this epic struggle? The shed, or the denim...Let the best thing win.

NEWS FLASH: It actually feels like spring outside. You don't need me to tell you that. WOW! I'm pumped for flowers and grass. The sound of water running is a boon to my frost-nipped ears. We can start expecting the yearly migration--humans and beasts alike--to return to the north any time now. Every day the snow goes down a few more inches. The ice on the creak has a big channel running down the center, and the rink is turning in to a pond. Muddy paw-prints abound.

I put a few of the shovels away today. Mom said it's bad luck to put them away before we know for sure if it'll snow again--but I'll take a chance. Besides, I haven't stowed the snow blower yet. Who knows, we may still need it.

I'm still hunting for a job at nearby stables. I've been praying to God, asking that He would grant me this opportunity.  I'm excited! Who knows what will happen.

Happy Easter, folks. Praise the God who gave us His son and spring to enjoy. Enjoy this good Friday--I'm off to do push-ups and watch Jericho. (Great show, by the way.)

                

Lessons from the life of Jason Bourne

Lesson 1: Never, EVER enter into a program in which they say to you, "do you really need to know that?"

Lesson 2: Yes, the government has phone a surveillance system. Be careful.

Lesson 3: In the right hands, magazines can be weapons.

Lesson 4: If you enter into a car chase with Jason Bourne, you will die.

Lesson 5: Killing people kills you.

     Time to state the obvious: I just finished the first three Bourne movies. Now for my rating: I give it an 8 on the heart-wrenching-o-meter, a 10 on the fist-pump-o-meter, and it received the A. W. E. S. O. M. E. award on the plot-o-meter. I loved it! Here's the one thing that got me, though. So Jason is tortured by the memory all the people he's killed. He says in the third movie, "I try to apologize..."
     I wish more people knew God forgives. I know, I know, Bourne was just a character in a movie, but it made me sad.
     Hopefully the Aaron agent person in the next movie has a happier state of mind...but I doubt it. "Happy state of  mind" is a completely foreign concept for these agents, and I don't blame them.
    ANYWAYS. The Bourne trilogy is excellent and ranks second on my imaginary favorite movie list--next only to Lord of the Rings. Have fun wincing sympathetically as you watch.

Saturday, March 9th

I staggered into the house after a ride through the drizzle. The most annoying part of this whole recovery sequence is when my legs threaten to give way after the most menial of activities. But that will pass in time, right? I sure hope so. That's beside the point, however.
What a beautiful day. It smells like spring. Granted, what with the rain, slush, and lack of flowers, its not an ideal picture of spring as we see it in Birds & Blooms magazine, but the world has a variety of masks.
Can you believe it's March? Already? I think this year has made my "most eventful" list. My imaginary "most eventful" list. You know, the only reason I even have a most eventful list this year is because I actually have time to think. *grin

Oh, yes. I almost forgot. I watched the Hunger Games, and I'd like to give you all a rating. It rated a 9 on the icky-o-meter, 10 on the acting-o-meter, and it received the B. L. A. H. award on the plot-o-meter. I'd give it four out of ten stars--only because of the acting. And the game-maker's beard. The game-maker's beard was SPECTACULAR. Here's a picture of it:
                                                     
Isn't it the best? I thought so.

Back to the drizzle. This week, because it's been so warm, I've had the privilege to watch the icicles form outside my window. The light sparkles in them like they've caught the sun's light and trapped it in their slender bodies. No icicles today, however. Just a grey expanse of sky and that oh-so-fresh air. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Flowers

 Garden

A field of daisies,

Waving cheery.

A midsummer rose,

Nodding sweetly.

And there by the corner

A honeysuckle humming

Brighter and taller

Bursting with flower.

A garden gate amidst it all

An opening in the stone wall.

A rocky path leads to

The bee’s euphoria.

Another Garden

The earth’s merriment rises from the ground

What does it look like? How does it sound?

It flutters on wings light as air

It sends its aroma with the birds and bees

Its chuckles arise from the ground-

Red, blue, yellow, purple

Slender petals wave in the breeze

The earth’s humor is these.

A rocky wall surrounds it all
A happy sanctuary...

A gorgeous wilderness

Becrimsoned and begilded

Like a testimony of all things beautiful

Gathered in one happy spot

Slender petals wave in the breeze—

The earth’s humor is these.

Morning Thinks (thoughts)

     Well, we're halfway through winter. And what a beautiful winter its been. Have you thought, "I wish it was summer!" yet to yourself? Ha. Silly question. I'm learning, though. There's so much to be joyful about, even when its so cold your boogers freeze the instant you step outside.
     I feel like this winter, I've lived a lot more than I ever have, because I've been able to let my dreams and desires guide what I do. And in many ways, I feel like I've missed out on life. I remember those fourteen hours a week I'm not dancing...and I think, "EEK!"
     But I'm not here to be melancholy. God's been perpetually trying to cheer me up, which is one interesting thing thats been happening to me lately. I think God wants us to live in a state of constant praise. That was a foreign concept for me two months ago. But now I see how it is not only possibly, but highly desirable.
      And fun.
   
      On a less philosophical note, I've gotten ensnared in Once Upon A Time. Again. *rolls eyes*
      But what can I say. Its captivating! And surprisingly moral. Their principals aren't all mixed up, and...well, just plain wrong, like some other shows I've seen. Like this one guy (who was married) was having an affair with this other girl, and they actually put aside how "complicated" the situation was and said, "Hey, this is wrong...we have to stop seeing each other." And I was like, "YES!"
   
     I am in a happy place. I have God, a puzzle, and a treadmill. *contented smile* And now, I'm off to go watch Once Upon a Time, run on that treadmill and fold towels.

Not all at once, obviously.

Story

The mare skittered nervously over the cobble courtyard, pulling at the reins. Fear was strong in her nostrils. The two-legged thing on her back was afraid, and that gave her reason to be afraid. Another two-leg opened its mouth and a noise burst out. Danger! The bit pulled at the mare’s mouth, but she fought it this time. Suddenly, a great rattle of cold-metal. A roar of many-two-legs behind her--run! Her hooves thudded on the tree-ground.
    Ismaril dragged the mare’s head around and clapped his heels to her side. They slipped under the portcullis and clattered over the drawbridge. The babe, strapped inside of basket in the saddle gave a squall as the mare leapt away from the castle. Out of the corner of his eye, Ismaril saw three or so of the men at arms holding open the gate. Then, as he watched, arrows began to fall among them and the portcullis, left with a sudden absence of resistance, crashed to the ground. Then Ismaril turned his face to the road and bent low over the mare’s neck, one arm over the basket. Behind him, bells began tolling.
      
At dawn, it was the horse that checked Ismaril’s flight. She paid no heed to the urgings of her rider, and came to a halt in the middle of a thicket of pines, foam encrusted on her lips, then staggering slowly to her knees.
     They had left the road behind long ago. Ismaril had purposefully ensconced them in the Thalia, a forest that blanketed the country on both sides of the great river for miles. The problem was, ensconced also meant lost, however purposefully Ismaril had entered the forest. He slid out of the saddle and pulled at the straps holding the basket to the saddle. Roswhen’s son had long since fallen into a sullen and sleepy silence, but when Ismaril lifted him down, he gave a tired whimper. Cynan. Ismaril whispered his name softly. Cynan murmured and waved his arms. For a fleeting moment, everything was peaceful. A gust of wind blew through the pines, and the grasses rustled. The mare gave a weary snort and pricked her ears. Ismaril frowned. “What're you hearing?” He said softly. Again, the wind came, playing with the horse's tail. On its crest it bore a sound--the very sound Ismaril had, though not quite consciously, dreaded hearing. The baying of hounds.
       For an instant, he stood, rooted. Then Ismaril jumped at the mare with feverish haste, fumbling with the basket. The horse lifted her blocky head, looking at Ismaril with glassy eyes. As the wind again washed over the small party, she gave a groan and let her head fall back to the earth. Ismaril struggled to make the mare rise. He shouted, shoved, beseeched , and all the while the babe accompanied his pleas with wails. Ismaril stood, defeated, as the mare closed her eyes. He slowly bent down and lifted Cynan out of the basket. Wrapping the leather straps around his hands, he tied the packsaddle onto his back and wrapped the child firmly in his blankets. Holding Cynan tightly to his chest, he began to trot west: or rather, he the way he hoped was west. While all his nerves screamed at him, run! run! every time the wind gusted and brought with it the same viscous sounds, Ismaril held his pace. In the long run, this will be better, he thought, firmly.
        He loped away, heading north.

So, I have several questions. First, what do you all think of this story? If you have comments, or criticism about anything: plot, character, Writing, I'd love to hear it. Advice is appreciated.
I need to add some more characters. So far, I have a villain, a main, and several subs: Cynan, a woodcutter and his family. Any ideas for more characters I could add?
I have a hard time doing quality characterization when I write in 3rd person. Could you give me your impressions of who Ismaril is right now? Like, his personality traits.
So anyway, I'm exited for this story, but I have some rivers to ford before it gets to where I want it to be.

Dance follows me everywhere. No matter how hard I might try to escape, it chases me. Many people are incomplete without it.

Most people who dance know that you cannot run. It has been ingrained in your nature, somehow, and no matter what happens you will never shake the longing. 

It exposes your soul, rips your heart, sits at the deepest part of your desire. To fly. 

           And I think, "Why God? Why did you create this desire?"
           The yearning is not something to run from. It shines glory on God.

So don't run. Shout and leap and dance for Him. As I learned last night, full enjoyment is not complete until you have praised that which gives you joy: God.  It shouldn't become work. He is a joy. There is no such thing as sad joy or annoying joy, is there? So praise Him, people.               

                            

The Libster Award Part Two

Right. Now I'll buckle down and answer Miss Alison's questions. 

1. What truth do I believe in and why? 
I believe in the living God, because this world is too beautiful, complex and amazing to have been happened by chance. I believe that this God loves mankind and is actively involved in the happenings on earth. I believe in Satan, God's rival, who seeks to destroy all God does. God sent his son Jesus to die for mankind to take away the sins of the world. That way, instead of being doomed to die for being sinners, Jesus took the blame for us, so humans can be with God when they die. 

2. What is your favorite color and what does it make you think of?
My favorite color is....excuse me, my favorite colors are: aqua blue, because it makes me think of the ocean. Emerald, like a crow's head and the north woods. White, like snow.

3. What picture pops into your head when you read, "bouncing blue..."
Captain Haddock from the Adventures of Tintin. "A billion blue blistering barnacles!!"

4. What storybook character would you bring to life?
Marcellus from "The Robe". Uncas from "The Last of the Mohicans". Fledge from "The Magician's Nephew. Faramier from "the Lord of the Rings."

5. What food should be made illegal for normal people to eat?
Most people would and are going to hate me for saying this. Wheat. I don't care how whole grainy the grains are in your super "healthy" bread--It will create just as many problems as processed flours. 

6. Sky blue or lime green?
Sky blue. Ever noticed how lime green isn't the shade of green a lime is?

7. What is ONE OF your favorite memories? (Without that addition the question is rendered impossible)
Dj and I playacting in the back yard.

8. What is your favorite animal?
Alison Schneider, why on earth would you ask that question? Anyone who knows me could shout out the answer right now. (Alrighty, readers, don't let me down on this one)

9. How should everyone eat a gummy bear?
From the head down. It is more merciful that way. 

10. What calms you down best? 
Praying.

11. Underground or above the treetops? 
Above the treetops with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.

Now for some questions of my own:

1. What is your favorite smell?
2. Summer mornings summer evenings?
3. What is your least favorite animal?
4. Birch or Aspen?
5. Have you even been on a roller coaster and if so, what was your impression?
6. Favorite kind of Christmas ornament?
7. I'm drawing a blank, so tell us the most interesting thing you can think of about you.
8. Cottages or log cabins?
9. What is ONE OF your favorite memories?
10. What to you think of when you hear birds chirping really early in the morning?
11. What is one adventure you've had?

For this award, I nominate Monica. Congrats.

The Libster Award Part One

The Libster award.
The rules are:

List 11 facts about yourself
Answer the 11 questions the blogger who nominated you left
Ask 11 new questions for those who you nominate
Go to each blogger's page and let them know about the award
Thank the person who nominated you and link back to their blog.

Thanks Alison, at The Nerve of Verve, for nominating me for the Libster award! I'll follow suite and start with part one: 11 facts about myself.

1. I, like everyone else on this earth, am a sinner. (note: I give God, Allie, my mother, and Ellie the credit for this one) But I believe that Jesus Christ died to wipe me clean of all sin. I believe that Jesus rose from the dead on the third day and He has forgiven me of all sin. And you can have this too. Praise God!

3. God talks to me. He will talk to you as well, if you learn to hear His voice. "Walking with God" by John Eldredge really helps normal people like me to understand this.

4. I have been growing out my hair since I was five years old and I got a good twelve inches cut off of it yesterday. Its been a little shocking.

5. I am a ballet dancer. That puts me in a close little group, a set, if you like. But I'm also an injured dancer. That slides me into an even different group--the "on hold" group. Thank you dad for handing down crappy hamstrings through the family :)

6. I am a pianist.

7. And I'm trying to learn recorder. Hem.

8. I'm a carnivore. BACON!

9. I swell up when I eat bread.

10. HORSES oh my goodness gracious!

11. Yes, animals were harmed in the making of my life.

The fundamental rules of fantasy stories

1. When in doubt, blow something up. (Thank you, Alison)

2. Don't be afraid of blood.

3. Scaring little children is ok.

4. Making people cry is AWESOME.

5. Add beauty and hope

6. Don't get so sucked into making a cool villain that you get good and evil mixed up. Keep very clear distinctions between moral actions and evilness. Try to keep the lines between the two crystal clear in the character's eyes. 

7. Be willing to accept that you will ruin several people's lives. 

8. And kill several people too. 

9. GOOD ALWAYS WINS. 

10. Emotional strife keeps the ball rolling

11. Nothing is more annoying than an annoying main character. 

12. Know the right times to be extremely descriptive and the right times to make the reader guess.

13. Laugh at yourself

14. And don't be afraid to go back to the drawing board time and time again.

There.

A lasting idea

    Ismaril wasn't the sort to banter words in a hurried situation. He took the ring from the Rhoswen and slipped it into his pocket. With the slow movement of a reluctant mother, Rhoswen gave her son one last kiss and let Ismaril take him from her. Her head drooped for a moment, and she clasped her hands before her. To stop them from shaking, Ismaril thought. Then she straightened and stepped away. Very regal she looked, there in the blood-red light of the sunset. A queen. The Last Queen. 

     "Go," Rhoswen said, "before it is to late. Do not hesitate--for my sake, Ismaril."
     Ismaril shifted the sleeping babe to his other arm and bowed, fist over heart. In reply, the queen raised her hand in a fist, thumb and first two fingers pointing up. It was an ancient salute, almost a blessing. Behind the woman, the shifting light of the red sunset made Rhoswen seem to glow with glory. Ismaril fixed that image in his mind as he turned away, first walking, then running, holding her son tightly in his arms.

Ooh. I like that one. That plot seems to come easy. Anybody want more? 

The Alps of Minnesota

     What is so fun about riding up a ski lift in six-degree weather, with thirty mph winds blowing you back down the wire? It would only be fun if you were with a friend.
     I've never had an experience quite like the one I had last night. I'm sure you all heard what the weather was like--nasty, to sum it up in as few words as possible. But beautiful at the same time--the crisp, clear, painful beauty of winter. The hills at Afton Alps were completely iced over, with drifts of powdery snow lying where the gusts of wind had gathered it. Every time we rode the lift to the top of the hill, my hoodie would freeze over my mouth. Falling was inevitable: at least, it was for a person of my tipsy nature--that is, tending to fall down while standing still. At least I provided Ellie with a source of amusement, flopping around on the ground, struggling to get my skis under me, all the while sliding further and further down the slope. Humph.
     The Afton Alps Ski Patrol is a great group of people. Even from my brief contact with them, you got the impression that they love the work they do. You know, it is hard to be grumpy after being out in the wind and sun, saving lives and flying down steep hills for the greater part of the day. If more people would experience the outdoors and the satisfaction of returning to a warm building at the end of the day, we'd all be better off for it.
     The patrol room is small, but homey. The patrollers gather around the long table in the center, often with their families in tow. First Aid equipment, skis, and bags line the walls. Smells of hot chocolate, melting snow, and musty indoor air waft around the room. Conversation is usually lively and good natured, disrupted by the buzzing of the radios as help is needed on the hill.
     Now comes for my rating. Afton Alps is an awesome place for people of all ages. It is family friendly, complete with several restaurants and a rental shop. The Patrol is active, efficient, and devoted. Now, I would probably tell you that any skiing experience is simply awesome, but at Afton, it was one of the best expeditions I've ever been on. I would recommend it. There is nothing more satisfactory than braving the elements and coming back to home base hungry and sweating. Tired, but happy. (Interesting how those words--tired but happy--always goes along with exercise. Think about it.)

Once upon a time...

     "Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a girl named Karly...One night, she and her mother and father and brother and their dogs were sitting around the campfire up at their cabin. The firelight was flickering and casting shadows into the long grass around the fire. Everything was peaceful and quiet. A full moon rose over the trees, casting eerie silver light over the yard...." Dad paused, his voice low and his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched me for a reaction. "Suddenly, there came a rustling from the grass in the woods. The girl's dog, Sonny, went slowly up to investigate. He disappeared into the long grass and everything was silent. Karly called his name, but he didn't come back. The rustling came again. Karly got up to go look for the dog and walked over to the forest. It was pitch black. Suddenly, a wolf howled. And another..."
      "And then what, Dad? What happened next?"
      "And then.... (another dramatic pause)...Theyallgotflusheddownthetoilet!"
      "Dad!" I complained, grinning. "What really happened?"
      Dad bluffed his way out of the question and began tickling me, evoking several shrieks of merriment. Finally, he chased me away and I sought refuge on the other side of mom, away from the fire. I settled down on the grass and gazed into the coals.
     A wolf howled.
     And I felt a sudden and panicky desire to be as close to the fire as I could be--as far away from the threatening dark. The dogs cocked their heads. Sonny growled. Then we heard the wolves again, this time with more voices. Have you ever heard a bunch of the neighborhood dogs barking all at once? It was like that, only more savage. It sounded as though a pack was having a rather violent discussion just a little ways off in the woods behind the garage. Now, the lake on which our cabin is situated is by no means unpopulated. In the recent years, wolves have been migrating closer and closer to civilization, much to the chagrin of my brother and I, because it stopped our galavanting through the woods. But anyways, back to the story.
     It was definitely eerie, sitting by the fire with the round ball of the moon floating above our heads, and the bats flying in and out of the cabin lights. Dad's story sure hadn't helped. But it was...very neat, to say the least, to hear the wolves howling and barking out in the woods. The stars were so bright that night, I remember.

Frost

Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail. ~Proverb

Winter is the heart of sharp, vicious beauty 

It spreads across the land like a thin film of ice forming, 

blooming outward and downward, 

reaching out into the soil and gripping the earth with a frozen hand.

When the bold branches
Bid farewell to rainbow leaves -
Welcome wool sweaters.
~B. Cybrill

The Land thaws with the coming of Christmas
Because hearts warm a little

The lights shine on the snow

Like stars, only nearer

But all to soon the cold comes creeping back

If winter comes, can spring be far behind?
~Percy Bysshe Shelly

I say enjoy the snow while you can.