Friday, July 27, 2012

A Porcelain Doll Loved By Her Maker

"There's a girl in the corner with tear stains on her eyes from the places she's wandered and the shame she can't hide. She says, 'How did I get here? I'm not who I once was...'" -- You Are More by Tenth Avenue North

I think we're all in a corner at some point in our lives. The world pushes and shoves, and we get lost and hurt. It's almost like we're porcelain dolls, played with by children. Sometimes someone says or does something, and it's like a child threw you across the room to see if you could fly and you end up fractured. The perpetrator doesn't mean to hurt you, but doesn't think to check to see if you're okay. Other times we do something and believe that we can't be forgiven or that no one will love us because of it, and that can hurt us too. I have a few words to tell you. It's why I am able to go through the world without shattering completely.

God loves us and always will. No matter what we do or say, He loves us.

God crafted us with His own hands. Each doll unique and surrounded by His love, but we're more than dolls. We make our own decisions, and even though it causes Him grief to see us turn our backs to him, He lets us, so we can learn. We are head strong and fragile, yet He loves us more than any mortal can conceive. When we fall, He picks us up and washes not only our tear stained faces, but also our aching hearts. He washes away our sins because of love. He's our Father.

I was playing around on YouTube, watching the music video for Lift Me Up by The Afters, and I found a music video for a band I had vaguely heard of. I figured it wouldn't hurt to expand my musical database a little. I nearly cried. When I showed it to my mother she had one word for it. Powerful. Yes, the music was good, but I don't think there could be better visuals for it. I recommend that you watch it. It's alright if you don't like it; I won't judge you for that, but the message is strong and true. Here's a link: You Are More by Tenth Avenue North

God has gifted these young men with the ability to spread his word and love.

An Encounter With A Spider

This morning there was a spider. It was a brown recluse. Most are. My mother was sitting on the couch, working on her afghan. I was sprawled on a pile of pillows whilst observing a cat. Something skittered across the floor. I jerked up with a startled exclamation of wordless surprise. The spider stopped just in front of the couch.

My mother looked at me. "Spider?" her only, but accurate query.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the offending arachnid.

My mother calmly moved her yarns and lifted her feet off the ground. "Well? Aren't you going to kill it?"

Right. I looked around the room. In a battle, your choice of weapon is key. Board game box. No, it's too big and flimsy. Yearbooks, Mom would kill me. Coaster. Perfect. Ceramic disc in hand, I faced down the spider. Not big, not small, probably a little juicy. However, while I had the advantage of size and strength, the eight legged menace was close enough to the couch that if I missed, he could easily escape.

"If you can't get to it, get the spray."

I weighed my options. With the coaster, the spider would be gone in a matter of seconds, but I only had one shot. With the spray, I would only need one shot, but my mother has always stressed that if I can conceivably smash a spider, I shouldn't use the spray. One shot. I lowered the coaster in order to run to the spray.

The spider sensed an opportunity and darted under the couch.

I darted to the kitchen, grabbed the canned death of arachnid, and hurried back, but I was too late. I couldn't see it, so I sent a small cloud of poison under the couch and hoped it had been enough.

"Not enough!" My mother took the spider killing fumes and put layer after layer of it around the bottom of the couch, the front, the side, the back, and the other side. A vision of spiders with tiny gas masks entered my mind. Even with gas masks, the poison eats through the exoskeleton, leaving no survivors. I watched my mother, half expecting her to burst into maniacal laughter.

When she was done I asked her if it was a little excessive. After all, she was the one who told me that use that stuff sparingly.

"We sit on the couch and floor all the time. It was called for."

From the look on her face, I learned where my strong reaction to spiders comes from. I can be brave, but if I see one bigger than the tiny carpet spiders, I freeze. Spiders are trying to over take the world. People with arachnophobia just happen to realize how dangerous spiders are.

Nothing with eight legs will survive under our couch for a very long time.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

A Second Letter to Spiders

Dear Spiders (specifically the Brown Recluse spiders that live under and behind my bookshelf),

I know you're there. Waiting. Waiting for the opportune time to do me in. I do not appreciate this. You have fewer places to hide, but that doesn't mean that you have to flaunt your existence by crawling out from under the bookshelf almost every night as I go to bed, but as long as you stay still and try to camouflage with the pink carpet, even though you are irreversibly brown, I can grab a weapon and end your tiny venomous lives.

I have a weapon that is extremely good at finding and distracting you. Its name is Lil-Bit. I may not see you, but my kitty is very good at hunting you. Move once and she sees you. With my kitty, I will foil your plans of world domination! So prepare for war. If either of us sees you, you're gone. Let the war begin. There will be many casualties, on your side.


Thursday, July 12, 2012

Letter to Saltine Crackers

Dear Saltine Crackers,

Have I ever told you how much I love you? I really love you. Today I have wandered away from the computer several times to see if the fridge or cabinets had produced anything to eat in the last five minutes. I was continually disappointed. Then I saw you, oh package of dried food rectangles, and I knew I was saved. I took you back to my room, where I prepared to sit happily at my computer and read blogs. Much to my dismay, you were nearly stolen from me within moments of our reunion, but I did not let that silken feline take you.

Now we sit, me in my chair and you in your open package. Have I ever told you how much you mean to me? You have been beside me through thick and thin, happy sleepy days and in the aftermath of great pain. It's okay, if you were there during those fatal hours, you would have come back up, which would have been unpleasant for us both. You are of monumental worth to me. You are awesome and tasty.

Thank you,

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Love: the Ultimate Truth

"So much of what really happens in this world can't be seen with those round balls in your eye sockets. You could pluck them out and still see bright as day. Or you could walk around with the prettiest blue eyes carved from the sky and be as blind as Black himself." -- Ted Dekker

I recently finished reading Sinner by Ted Dekker. I cried. I won't tell you at which part because that might spoil it for you. There is part of every one of Ted Dekker's books that rings true. That part is the same in each one. The most important part of Christ is love. He loves us.

He loves us. He loves us! He LOVES us!

It's true. If you look in the bible he does everything out of love for us. Even flooding the Earth was an act of love.Yes, he also punished us many many times, but parents punish their children because they love them and want them to learn. Sadly, humans tend to take a lot of time to learn.

Referring to the quote, there are a lot of blind people out there. They don't know Christ's love and power. I think all of us have the same power as Dekker's Johnny. We can all open others' eyes to the truth, though admittedly not as extravagantly. The world isn't black and white, though. Some of us can see, but it's a little hazy, blurred. Those of us need glasses. Our spectacles can be found in any book store, library, and even many many homes. The Bible. There are so many examples of His love and power .

It can be boring for some in the New Testament, when the first several books are the same story only a little different, but it's like in any learning experience. If the instructor, or book, goes over something more than once, it's probably very very important. The story of Jesus IS very very important. 

"For God so love the world that He gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." -- John 3:16

God loves us. We are all his children. He is our Father. Therefore all of creation is our family, all of mankind is our siblings. We are family in Him.

I am a daughter of Christ.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Babies, Kittens, and Love

You probably recall my kitten Lil-Bit, a sweet little calico that I was able to adopt along with her living shadow with teeth of a brother. However, Insta-Purr is my sister's. I don't have to take the blame when he wakes people up in the mornings. He does. We used to let Lil-Bit and Insta-Purr sleep upstairs, until Insta-Purr started hitting the doors at night. There was once when he actually opened my door by throwing himself against it repeatedly because my door didn't latch that night. I would throw him in my sister's room or in the basement. The kittens sleep in the basement at night now, and now I can sleep at night. The little monster has something against letting me sleep; I'm sure of it.

I appear to have run off course. Lil-Bit has become an important part of my family. She will curl up with me to take a nap. All I have to do is pick her up and take her to wherever I have decided to lie down. I feed her before bed and she sleeps on my floor when she feels like it. Normally the floor is just fine, but recently she will jump on my lap and from there to my desk. She only does this when my computer is on though. When she was a little fuzz ball, she would walk all over the laptops of my mother and sister. She was quite talented at it too. It was within her grasp to pull up windows media player without even looking at the keys.

A few of the blogs I read are posted by mothers. They talk about the challenges, but mostly about the love they have for their children. In my eyes it's not that different than having a kitten. This in mind, I have complied some similarities and differences of kittens and children.

1.You change the diapers/litter box.

2.You feed them.

3.When Christmas comes, the breakable ornaments are moved to the top of the tree.

4.Valuables are moved out of their reach.

5.If they cry you feel bad for them.

6.They chew on things they shouldn't chew on.

7.They are adorable.

8.People will come if you ask them to see your baby/kitten.

9.They enjoy being out in nice weather.

10.Both can be frustrating.

11.Babies/Kittens are interesting to small children.

12.They look like perfect angels in their sleep.

See? They really are quite similar. No doubt I forgot some likenesses though. The following is a list of their differences.

1.Kittens are fluffy.

2.Litter box training is easier. Cats already have the instinct to bury their waste.

3.When babies get scared they cry. When kittens get scared they fluff their fur out and are adorable.

4.Kittens can climb the Christmas tree, so rearranging the ornaments doesn't help.

5.Kittens are born with sharp claws. These cause pain.

6.On average, cats are less expensive than babies.

They're similar and different, but in the end aren't we all something small that needs someone to take care of us? God made each of us different and similar. It's not that hard to see that with other animals too. He made us and He takes care of us. He gives many species' mothers the instinct to protect their babies. It's hard not to believe in His power and love when you see a baby of any species. Especially when it's a kitten, in my case.

Today I am content to sit by Lil-Bit, as she approaches the year old mark, and marvel at our Lord's power and love. Good night my sweet kitten. I'll see you in the morning.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

My Mother's Poetry

Alright, I haven't posted poetry in a while. In truth I've been spending more time with my nose in a book than I have been writing. For you. A poem. I wrote this when my mother was working on a project, sitting on the couch with her laptop on her lap. It's not exactly a masterpiece, but it isn't horrid.

Her whispered words
through the air,
as gentle and distant
as snowflakes
through a closed window.

Each word
is a mystery
to me,
as I sit
pinned to the recliner
by an old, loved cat,
with his nose tucked
under my chin
while he occupies my chest.

Each word
is only for her,
to test the sound,
so she may revise
as needed.
I dare not speak to her
or raise my voice,
least I disturb her.

All I can do,
as I sit
beneath a blanket
of cat fur,
is wait
and hope
that one day
I too may hear
her poem.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Happy Late Fourth (2012)

Dear Reader,

Hello. It seems that every other day there is a story on the news about a fire caused by fireworks. That's the Americans. We'll set off fireworks even if the grass is so dry it just goes up in a puff of smoke. Well, individuals will. A lot of towns actually cancelled their firework displays in order to prevent an accidental fire. My family had a small get together in one place that did not cancel. We ate dinner and caught a show. It was ten p.m. when we came out, and over the buildings we could see flashes of color. I stared out the window on the way home. All around us fireworks spurted to the stars. It was beautiful. The word magic fits perfectly. It wasn't just magic on the way back. On the drive in, there were hills covered in dark green trees. Sometimes there were fields between the hills and sometimes halfway down a hill another abruptly started, as if they were crowding each other. It's easy to see them as the mountains they once were.

My Fourth of July was filled with beauty, even if it was too hot to stay out very long when the sun was still up. I know that not all of my readers are in America, but the majority is. I hope all of you had a happy day on the fourth regardless of if it was a holiday for you or not.


A Little Bit Of Tidying And A Dash Of Stress

My room and my study are the same place; I spend more time there than I do in the other rooms of the house. As a result, that is where I put my stuff down when I don't want to put out the effort to put it where it belongs. Yes, that is a complicated way of saying 'I have a messy room'. Actually though, that's past tense now. I cleaned my room in late May of this year. Somehow, this has affected my brain.

Since I have cleaned my room, I have become more organized than my sister, the responsible one. This doesn't just refer to our living quarters. For example, I rearranged the movie bookshelf. My sister helped a little. I don't organize like most people. The following are some of the sections we now have.

Science Fiction/Joss Whedon
Old Cheesy Movies (Gremlins, Time Bandits, etc.)
Westerns/Action Movies
Fairy Tales
Heroes (not the T.V. show. Different movies that have come from comic book heroes.)
Movies We Wish We Never Bought

I had a phone call so I had to leave my sister to finish putting the categories on the shelves. I was impressed when I returned to find that she had organized Historical Figures in chronological order of the figure. However, I do not think that our Inspirational Movie section should be arranged by time period. If they deal with the same issues I will put them together, otherwise time shouldn't really matter there. The categories are in no "logical" order, but it makes sense to me. It's very much like my bookshelves.

Back to the main topic. The point is, I've always been unorganized. When we were little, my sister and I used to joke about how the toys on the floor were booby traps. We always knew where to step and other people had to stay strictly to the path that snaked around our bed. What I want to know is how cleaning my room triggers a need to organize little things. Cleaning still holds that subtle dislike, but tidying is fine. There is a difference. Cleaning is the big stuff, the attic, the teenager's room, that huge pile of dishes on the counter. Tidying is the little stuff, putting the small pile of laundry on coat hangers in the closet, putting something left around back where it goes, reorganizing. Big stuff is made up of little stuff, but if I can still view the little stuff as building up to the big stuff I stress. I sort of flip out after doing a tiny amount.

"This is such a big thing!"

"Why must I do this today? Why not tomorrow? Why not the day after tomorrow?" (The call of procrastination, I know it well.)

"There might be a spider in there!"

"I can't do all this!"

"Can I do it later? I want to stay in this book for a few more days."

"I was perfectly fine before. I don't see why it's all that important."

"I think something moved! Was it a spider?!"

"Nap please? We like naps."

"EEeek! Spider!"

Somehow, even if I have all the time in the world, big stuff triggers something in my brain that puts me in panic mode. In sixth grade, I would cry from the overload of stress. I guess I just stress easily, but it's okay now. My mother used to stress a lot too. She still does, but she says it's not as often or bad as she used to. She was the one who taught me how to avoid stress. Maybe that's why my brain has decided to have a strong love of tidying. In order to protect me from a meltdown, it minimizes the likelihood of me encountering something that could cause a meltdown. Huh. How about that. Well, that or I'm just plain crazy ,which is just as, if not more, likely.