Today I completed my third week of summer work. For those of you who are subconsciously going "Huh?" "summer work" is the four weeks that each of us students are required to work in order to pay off our school tuition. And considering all the benefits of living and attending FBI, and realizing that the only other money you pay is basically to cover room and board, the deal is not too shabby.
So any way, I've finished my third week! Now all that is left is the week of the Family Convention, which could be a challenge, but I expect it's going to be heaps of fun. What kind of work do we normally do? Well, all kinds. I'll only bother to tell you a few of the things that I've done; if I tried to mention everything it might include for anybody (girls and guys), it could be quite lengthy. Things I've done have included weeding, edging, watering, scrubbing floors for them to be waxed, turning a gray piano bench into a wood-colored one, defrosting and re-organizing a mess of a freezer (making a list of the numerous things you had no idea were in there--like a paint brush), spot cleaning carpets, shampooing carpets, scrubbing stairs with ammonia, sanding, working magic on rust stains, painting, and of course cleaning.
The past couple of days I've actually gotten to do a few extra interesting things. After spending the majority of yesterday painting window panes, I got to help do some prep-work for the Family Convention. Although I won't divulge any secrets for the sake of those who might be attending, it involved doing things like getting fluorescent orange on my thumb and writing the word "patience" over and over again nineteen times (Cara said that maybe God was trying to tell me something :).
After working an eight hour day or so, I came home, made dinner, wrote a blog post, went for a five mile bike ride, and took a dip in the lake in my clothes (because Sarah and Ruth happened to be there and they invited me in). All in all, a fun, busy day.
Today, however was a little different. Since I'm one of the last girls to be working here before the Family Convention, my mom had certain cleaning jobs she wanted me to do before I stopped, so I tackled the men's and women's restrooms in the dining hall, two lodge rooms (plus vacuuming a third), the men's and women's restrooms in the lodge, and the community room. I did other things as well, of course, like watering flowers for Ruth or fetching or baking things for Kimberly (for the Fam Con :) or carrying in groceries from the gargantuan shopping trip that my mom, Diane, and Ruth took for the Fam Con, guys' week, and snack bar. But all that is boring old hat and I want to get to the issue mentioned in my title . . .
The men's bathroom in the dining hall was crawling with spiders. Okay, not like Indiana Jones style "covering the surface of the earth" type of crawling, but crawling enough for one little room. Don't ask me why the women's bathroom hardly had any--all I can suppose is that ladies have a lower tolerance of spiders so they get rid of them faster, which would make sense because there were more spiders in the men's bathroom of the lodge as well, though not as many. Anyway, I made short work of them. A brush towards the floor and a quick stomp was enough to quickly extinguish the miniscule life, if it's worthy of being called a life. I was feeling tough and a trifle smug at how unfrightened I was and how easy it was for me to step on them (having shoes on certainly helped :), but as it turned out, I was only facing the training ground.
I killed the first batch of spiders in the morning. During my lunch break, I posted a Facebook status: "Today I am a spider slayer. If you have eight legs, you'd better watch out . . . " or words to that effect. It made sense. I'd been killing spiders, and Aunt Sharon had asked me to take care of some cobwebs outside at the lodge so I suspected that I'd be killing a few more. It was a fitting status, I just didn't know how fitting.
I started on the spider webs at the lodge right after lunch. Aunt Sharon was right--the webs WERE bad. You had to be careful you didn't walk into some of them, and there were plenty way above my head that were even worse. I had expected to only de-cobweb the a few webs outside the rooms I had cleaned, but I ended up moving from web to web until I realized that the whole downstairs needed to be done.
I speak blithely of moving from web to web. The fact is that I didn't really move all that quickly. You see, as can be expected, these homes had inhabitants, and from what Aunt Sharon had said, I understood that these inhabitants needed to be exterminated. I remember the first one I killed. I suppose that by some standards he (or she) wasn't all that large, but considering the fact that I've never killed a spider with a body the size of a dime (or was it a penny?), it may as well have been Shelob. I say this as though it was a struggle to kill my first Shelob, but it wasn't. A quick stomp--then it was over, only, unlike the miniature spiders in the bathroom, this one had blood.
A lot of blood.
Well, that was to be expected, so I moved on and kept up the stomping. Only, contrary to what I would think to be popular opinion, it got harder every time. Seriously, I'm quite sure I squished at least ten spiders that were almost all equally humongous (the only one I kept away from was one that was hanging out near some wasp nests). The act itself was easy enough, only it was leaving a trail of silver-dollar sized brown-red stains in my wake that started to gross me out. Sometimes I frantically scraped my foot on the pavement as I visualized the spider blood there.
"Her feet were red with the blood of the spiders," came to my mind. Eventually I almost thought I could tell what fat, dead spiders smelled like, but I couldn't be sure.
Sweep.
Stomp.
Sweep.
Stomp.
My peanut-butter banana sandwich that I was rather full with suddenly seemed rather unappetizing. I kept killing, but the adventure was gone. I was a grim murderer, destroying for the sake of Fairwood's future guests, trying to shake off the sensation that there was still blood clinging to my Adidas flip-flop.
And suddenly I realized how Lady Macbeth must have felt.
Sort of.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
An orange thumb and David Barton
So I was spray painting for summer work today and somehow I managed to paint half of my thumb a fluorescent orange. The bright flashy color is so much more attractive than the normal white splatters I've been getting lately so I haven't bothered to wash/scrape it off yet. However, the funny thing is that whenever I look at the screaming appendage all I can think of is my friend Klara holding up her thumb with a mischievous glare as she growls, "I killed a man with this thumb." (a quote from the kids' movie, Ratatouille, for those of you not in the know)
It makes me ridiculously happy each time, so much so that I almost can't bear to wash off the orange.
*******************************************
My parents are away for the night, gone to a pastors' conference for pastors all across the state. Newt Gingrich and David Barton are two of the primary speakers, and the event is so fancy that my parents' hotel stay is already paid for.
"Does it have a pool?" Craig asked at the dinner table tonight when he found out. I think he was a little jealous.
"Probably," Kendra answered.
I suggested that maybe they'd get to swim with David Barton.
"I wonder if he paddles as fast as he talks," Craig mused.
I can't help but picture the renowned speaker dog paddling at machine gun style speed to keep up with the rate of his talking.
The image amused me.
It makes me ridiculously happy each time, so much so that I almost can't bear to wash off the orange.
*******************************************
My parents are away for the night, gone to a pastors' conference for pastors all across the state. Newt Gingrich and David Barton are two of the primary speakers, and the event is so fancy that my parents' hotel stay is already paid for.
"Does it have a pool?" Craig asked at the dinner table tonight when he found out. I think he was a little jealous.
"Probably," Kendra answered.
I suggested that maybe they'd get to swim with David Barton.
"I wonder if he paddles as fast as he talks," Craig mused.
I can't help but picture the renowned speaker dog paddling at machine gun style speed to keep up with the rate of his talking.
The image amused me.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I was just chased and hugged by a two-and-a-half foot man
What would you think of that for a Facebook status? Alas, my life is full of random moments where I think, "Now this would make an interesting Facebook status." Indeed, sometimes I'm tempted to run to the computer and put it on-line just because I think it sounds interesting and I wonder if anybody would say anything about it. After all, too often when I'm on the silly web site and I feel like it's time I update the mini story of my life, I stare blankly at the screen and realize I have nothing unique to say. I suppose I could type, "Kayla is on Facebook." That would probably be so dull it would have an original flavor, and original is always ideal. But since I'm on the computer and am not currently doing anything else I cannot honestly say that I'm doing something when I'm not. So I guess I have to mention something I did or am about to do. Hmm. "Kayla just ate lunch." Um, no. "Kayla is going running." I wouldn't want to give the false impression that I'm a disciplined runner. Actually, in past summers I've been a very disciplined runner but I decided that I was letting it become somewhat of a god so now I usually only go running when I want to or feel like it. So if people don't realize how disciplined I actually am (or am not) then they would not expect me to be fast or in shape and they can be pleasantly surprised when they (and I) discover otherwise. No, "Kayla is going running" says way more than I want it to and it's BORING to boot.
I feel, however, like I am not alone in this quest for a "special" Facebook status. Many is the time when I scan over my friends' statuses and see the words of a song. Huh? What does a song have to do with your life? I guess it might describe how they're feeling or what's going on in their head, but still I don't see much point in it. Well, perhaps I can understand it if it were a Christian song that's helping them through, but what's the benefit of some love song that says
I feel, however, like I am not alone in this quest for a "special" Facebook status. Many is the time when I scan over my friends' statuses and see the words of a song. Huh? What does a song have to do with your life? I guess it might describe how they're feeling or what's going on in their head, but still I don't see much point in it. Well, perhaps I can understand it if it were a Christian song that's helping them through, but what's the benefit of some love song that says
The night is dark
dark
dark
But you're on my mind
mind
mind
I think you're the sweetest angel with wiiiiiiiings
Oh yeah
Don't look down
Look at me
Clap your perty eyes on mine!
Yeah, baby.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
Yeah, babyyyy!
dark
dark
But you're on my mind
mind
mind
I think you're the sweetest angel with wiiiiiiiings
Oh yeah
Don't look down
Look at me
Clap your perty eyes on mine!
Yeah, baby.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
Yeah, babyyyy!
Okay, so I have never seen anybody put those words on their Facebook status, but some of the songs that I've seen people use seem just as ridiculous if not more so in my ignorant, countercultural eyes. What's the point of a status like that? Is that how they're feeling? Then maybe they can just put down the essence of the song ("It's dark, you're on my mind, don't look down, look at me) and leave out all the "oh oh oh oh oh ohs" and the "yeah baby's" and not leave us with the feeling that some punk is taking over their life and giving them words that don't even sound like them! And the worst part of it is (for someone who makes an effort to actually write something clever), when somebody copies someone else's dumb words they get like twenty people commenting and saying they love their status!!! That's what weirds me out every time. (And as a disclaimer, I'm not really thinking of very many specific times this has happened, and even if it has I'm magnifying my subtle feelings so that I can express them--don't start thinking that I think you and all your friends who write things like this are dumb because I haven't been harboring any such feelings)
So, to avoid the blank feeling of trying to come up with something to say when I'm updating my Facebook status, I've started developing a habit of forming ideas throughout my day. However, I don't have a cell phone to send my updates on, so they always have to wait for whenever I get around to getting on the computer. The problem with this though is that neither do I like to seem like somebody who's a Facebook potato. It's easy to avoid this impression during the school year--I'm laptop-less at school and am usually so busy that I'm lucky if I go on once a week. However, now that the summer is here, it's easy to keep returning to this timewasters' magnet. Fortunately, I manage to keep my time short. I'll check my notifications, check my home page, make sure there aren't any pictures I feel like looking at, and leave--after I update my status perhaps. But now that I do this on a daily basis, I don't wish to update my status every time because I don't want people to get easily tired of hearing from me and think I'm on a lot even when I'm not.
What's more, I also have no idea how many people might, just MIGHT, be getting my Facebook statuses sent to their phones (Craig and Clyde are the only people I know of who do this so I shouldn't be worried, but still I feel a little weird to say something when I know they're going to be aware every time I do). I suppose I could take advantage of this. Maybe I should do five consecutive statuses that say "Kayla is" and then a sixth one that says "Kayla is wondering if Craig and Clyde are tired of hearing her Facebook status." That could be entertaining. On the other hand, I know my mom gets a number of people's Facebook statuses on her phone and there's one person (not, I think, among any of my readers) who updates their status several times a day saying things like, "I'm sipping tea in the garden and listening to the birds sing as I daydream." A fine, sedate status to be sure, but one gets tired of hearing things like that multiple times a day. I have no desire to manufacture statuses just so they can pester my brothers or my friends (though I guess it would be their own fault if they did).
So what's the grand result of all this soliloquizing? The result is that, even though I am often conjuring up Facebook statuses that range from the sublime to the ridiculous, so many of them do not reach the annals of Facebook because I'm afraid to post too often. Hence, a chapter of my life has been lost.
But blogs are a great way to redeem the lost written word.
Therefore, as this is officially The Flapping Lingua where nothing sensible needs be expected and where nobody is obliged to see my "status" unless they absolutely wish it, I think I'll list some Facebook statuses I've thought of before, whether I actually posted them or not. Who knows? Maybe I'll even keep it up and write down several in a day as a way to patchily catalogue events in my life. It's much more concise than writing a whole blog post, and I can write several at once without looking stupid like I would on Facebook. Even better, since this isn't Facebook it doesn't even have to BE clever!
If you want, you can "like" whatever statuses you'd like to in my comment box.:)
So here goes. (I've included a lot of actual updates from the past as a little history for those of you who don't keep an eye on every single one of my statuses:):
1. Kayla is munching on chicken cordon bleu. (I'm too lazy to look up the spelling of that beyond asking one person in my family, so if it's wrong it's their fault:)
2. Kayla is re-reading one of her favorite books, Jane Eyre.
2. If I could drink the breezy twilight on a summer evening, I'd imbibe an ocean full. (maybe too corny for FB, but fine right here)
3. Kayla was chased and hugged today by a two-and-a-half foot man. His name is Joseph A----. (That incident practically melted my heart when my three-year-old neighbor saw me leaving his house after I'd wished the rest of his family a good vacation and he caming running outside down the path after me to hug me and say good-bye. Wow, I thought the kid barely knew me)
4. (On a Sabbath afternoon) "Sun, sun, sun!"
5. Kayla is in a peachy state, both literally and metaphorically. (actually posted)
6. Kayla MISSES her Karen cousins.
7. "They say a race can only have one winner, and you know you've got to pull out front to win. God knows the only time I'm winnin' is when I'm chasing Him." (yeah, I know, it's a song; hence my hesitation)
Okay, the rest are actual updates. Sorry if you were expecting more original stuff. When it comes down to it, I've forgotten a lot of status "drafts" that I might have thought of before . . . but I thought it was interesting to go back over the past six months and pick out some of the things from my tiny public "diary."
8. What do you do when a cute five-year-old tries to push you off a dock?
9. Kayla scrubbed stairs with ammonia today while listening to Screwtape.
10. God doesn't give us a map. He gives us a compass. (a Perspectives class reading concept that really described how I was feeling while going through things with my dad's heart condition while at the same time wondering what the summer will hold)
11. Kayla is bound for Indy at 3 a.m. tomorrow, boy howdy! (boy howdy has become a favorite expression of mine :)
12. Kayla is basking up a storm in Gloucester. Free weekends are da bomb.
13. "Time that is enjoyed being wasted is not wasted time." Maybe, just maybe, that's true on vacation.
14. Kayla decided to join her brother in whatever movie he was watching. Who would have thunk that it would be Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?
15. God is good, in sickness and in health.
16. Kayla was so tired last night that she decided to sleep in her clothes. It made getting ready for today very easy! :) (That was when I did an entire drawing for class in one evening the night before it was due--not because I had procrastinated but because I didn't think I was allowed to draw what I wanted to until two days before and then I was too busy to do anything about it--the drawing later ended up on the cover of TOR)
17. Kayla is. What more proof does she need in order to know that God is good?
18. Kayla dreamed that she went Christmas shopping for characters from Lost last night. . . I guess someone is a little obsessed.
19. Kayla is enjoying the inexorable force of laziness. (my teacher, Dan, would have been proud of me for using the word "inexorable" :)
20. Kayla is starting to get the hang of this making dinner for thirty people thing.
So, to avoid the blank feeling of trying to come up with something to say when I'm updating my Facebook status, I've started developing a habit of forming ideas throughout my day. However, I don't have a cell phone to send my updates on, so they always have to wait for whenever I get around to getting on the computer. The problem with this though is that neither do I like to seem like somebody who's a Facebook potato. It's easy to avoid this impression during the school year--I'm laptop-less at school and am usually so busy that I'm lucky if I go on once a week. However, now that the summer is here, it's easy to keep returning to this timewasters' magnet. Fortunately, I manage to keep my time short. I'll check my notifications, check my home page, make sure there aren't any pictures I feel like looking at, and leave--after I update my status perhaps. But now that I do this on a daily basis, I don't wish to update my status every time because I don't want people to get easily tired of hearing from me and think I'm on a lot even when I'm not.
What's more, I also have no idea how many people might, just MIGHT, be getting my Facebook statuses sent to their phones (Craig and Clyde are the only people I know of who do this so I shouldn't be worried, but still I feel a little weird to say something when I know they're going to be aware every time I do). I suppose I could take advantage of this. Maybe I should do five consecutive statuses that say "Kayla is" and then a sixth one that says "Kayla is wondering if Craig and Clyde are tired of hearing her Facebook status." That could be entertaining. On the other hand, I know my mom gets a number of people's Facebook statuses on her phone and there's one person (not, I think, among any of my readers) who updates their status several times a day saying things like, "I'm sipping tea in the garden and listening to the birds sing as I daydream." A fine, sedate status to be sure, but one gets tired of hearing things like that multiple times a day. I have no desire to manufacture statuses just so they can pester my brothers or my friends (though I guess it would be their own fault if they did).
So what's the grand result of all this soliloquizing? The result is that, even though I am often conjuring up Facebook statuses that range from the sublime to the ridiculous, so many of them do not reach the annals of Facebook because I'm afraid to post too often. Hence, a chapter of my life has been lost.
But blogs are a great way to redeem the lost written word.
Therefore, as this is officially The Flapping Lingua where nothing sensible needs be expected and where nobody is obliged to see my "status" unless they absolutely wish it, I think I'll list some Facebook statuses I've thought of before, whether I actually posted them or not. Who knows? Maybe I'll even keep it up and write down several in a day as a way to patchily catalogue events in my life. It's much more concise than writing a whole blog post, and I can write several at once without looking stupid like I would on Facebook. Even better, since this isn't Facebook it doesn't even have to BE clever!
If you want, you can "like" whatever statuses you'd like to in my comment box.:)
So here goes. (I've included a lot of actual updates from the past as a little history for those of you who don't keep an eye on every single one of my statuses:):
1. Kayla is munching on chicken cordon bleu. (I'm too lazy to look up the spelling of that beyond asking one person in my family, so if it's wrong it's their fault:)
2. Kayla is re-reading one of her favorite books, Jane Eyre.
2. If I could drink the breezy twilight on a summer evening, I'd imbibe an ocean full. (maybe too corny for FB, but fine right here)
3. Kayla was chased and hugged today by a two-and-a-half foot man. His name is Joseph A----. (That incident practically melted my heart when my three-year-old neighbor saw me leaving his house after I'd wished the rest of his family a good vacation and he caming running outside down the path after me to hug me and say good-bye. Wow, I thought the kid barely knew me)
4. (On a Sabbath afternoon) "Sun, sun, sun!"
5. Kayla is in a peachy state, both literally and metaphorically. (actually posted)
6. Kayla MISSES her Karen cousins.
7. "They say a race can only have one winner, and you know you've got to pull out front to win. God knows the only time I'm winnin' is when I'm chasing Him." (yeah, I know, it's a song; hence my hesitation)
Okay, the rest are actual updates. Sorry if you were expecting more original stuff. When it comes down to it, I've forgotten a lot of status "drafts" that I might have thought of before . . . but I thought it was interesting to go back over the past six months and pick out some of the things from my tiny public "diary."
8. What do you do when a cute five-year-old tries to push you off a dock?
9. Kayla scrubbed stairs with ammonia today while listening to Screwtape.
10. God doesn't give us a map. He gives us a compass. (a Perspectives class reading concept that really described how I was feeling while going through things with my dad's heart condition while at the same time wondering what the summer will hold)
11. Kayla is bound for Indy at 3 a.m. tomorrow, boy howdy! (boy howdy has become a favorite expression of mine :)
12. Kayla is basking up a storm in Gloucester. Free weekends are da bomb.
13. "Time that is enjoyed being wasted is not wasted time." Maybe, just maybe, that's true on vacation.
14. Kayla decided to join her brother in whatever movie he was watching. Who would have thunk that it would be Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?
15. God is good, in sickness and in health.
16. Kayla was so tired last night that she decided to sleep in her clothes. It made getting ready for today very easy! :) (That was when I did an entire drawing for class in one evening the night before it was due--not because I had procrastinated but because I didn't think I was allowed to draw what I wanted to until two days before and then I was too busy to do anything about it--the drawing later ended up on the cover of TOR)
17. Kayla is. What more proof does she need in order to know that God is good?
18. Kayla dreamed that she went Christmas shopping for characters from Lost last night. . . I guess someone is a little obsessed.
19. Kayla is enjoying the inexorable force of laziness. (my teacher, Dan, would have been proud of me for using the word "inexorable" :)
20. Kayla is starting to get the hang of this making dinner for thirty people thing.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Tales of a Friday evening
"Kabonk!"
Go, go, go, go, go! Yes!!! Michael's long-legged speed had enabled him to make it safely to first base. I found myself, once again, at a little league baseball game, an interesting glimpse into another small world. I watched the little kids bouncing around behind the bleachers, realizing that I was once exactly in their position about thirteen years ago when Clyde played little league. I remember going to some of the games, but I recall almost nothing else but walking around and being bored. A dozen years later, however, things are quite different. Sure, these aren't the Red Sox, but baseball is baseball. Still, I've hardly been to any of these little league games in recent years. Last summer I went to two of Michael and Gabriel's, but now Michael is in the Minor league (he's ten) and the kids actually do the pitching. That alone is pretty impressive, since a lot of those kids can probably throw and hit better than I can. *sigh*
Anyway, back to the game. After finishing Friday cleaning, my mom and I decided to go to at least part of Michael's game. We arrived, as it turned out, an hour and a quarter after the game began, but better late than never. However, Michael hadn't played a whole lot before then anyway, so we didn't miss much. As I said, he got a hit and made it to first base. Then the girl after him got hit by the pitch so he advanced to second base.
In response to other parents' inquiries, the mother of the girl limping to first answered unconcernedly, "She's fine. She'd be angry with me if I went over there. She knows where I am, so if she needs me she can find me. I'm just surprised she didn't wallop him back." Haha, sounds like the girl knows how to hold her own amongst a bunch of boys.
Back to Michael. He also made it to third base on a wild pitch, and then he ran for home on another wild pitch. With baited breath we watched him and the pitcher race for home as the catcher scooped up the ball. Would he make it? It looked a little bleak, but as the pitcher caught the ball while they both arrived--the pitcher dropped it! Michael was safe! He had scored! The bleachers went wild, especially our section, which was comprised of Andrea, Kimberly, Diane, Craig, my mom, and me. Quite the fan club.:) As I said, we pretty much went wild, but maybe in a slightly muted way. After all, we were in Dublin Field, not Fenway Park.
After we left, I had my mom drop me off at the town hall. Our town was having an open mike evening and my dad had taken the Karen guys down to watch and participate. They had tried to persuade me to bring my violin so with some reluctance I brought it in with me. The time was relaxing and extremely small. In fact, besides my dad and the three Karen guys, it was just one man and one lady. We still had some fun though. I played a couple of simple pieces that I happened to have memorized (Bach and Ashokan Farewell, a song, very popular at Del Rossi's and the weddings I've played for, that I've felt so well associated with for the past five years that it's weird to hear other people play it). The acoustics in the place were amazing, so it was very satisfying.
The man proved to be an excellent guitar player, able to follow along with a song even if he didn't know it. Apparently he's done some jamming with my Uncle Earl in the past, so my dad says. The lady played the guitar as well, and she had a fine country voice. With graying black hair that went past her waist, light jeans, cow boy boots, and red glasses, she got up on stage with her guitar and microphone and sang us some pieces that she'd written herself "a few years ago." They weren't too shabby either. One of them was one she'd written for her son when he graduated from high school, called "You are the Arrow, I am the Bow." Or something like that. But she strummed heartily and kissed that microphone with almost as much gusto for her six-person audience as she would have for a fawning crowd.
With the sun sinking, we excused ourselves and clambered into the car for home. The Karen guys then joined us for Sabbath meeting (I guess Mercy and Htee Khu had kind of turned in for the evening), and we had a pleasant evening with them. I'm blessed with great cousins, I gotta tell ya! Two weeks before, we had all of the Karen kids plus Erinn up to our house for Sabbath meeting and we had a smashing time visiting with them. The guys told us all kinds of funny stories about their antics in Thailand. Like how there was a live wire in school and they used to put frogs on it and turn the light on. Or how Mark brought a "dead" snake into class one time and it turned out to be alive (Aunt June wasn't too thrilled:). There were others, I'm sure, but they told these stories with such animation and effect (Htoo Eh has amazing story-telling skills--just picture him when he's fluent in English!) that they kept us laughing for quite some time. This evening, however, wasn't as long or as entertaining, but they still made me laugh nonetheless. But I suppose that such a skill isn't so very hard to acquire if you're trying to induce me into laughter.
After our brief meeting and visiting, we then partook of my birthday cake. I know what you're thinking. One may know someone's birthday without knowing them well, but one cannot know someone well unless you know at least roughly when their birthday is. So, since of course most of my readers know me well, you are scratching your well-placed scalps. My birthday is in April. It is now the month of June. Something doesn't compute! Well, my cake was not nearly two months old, it just was rather--er, late.
You see, on my birthday, I had no cake. I know, what a travesty! Yes, I had no birthday cake, no birthday banner, no carefully selected birthday menu, no "let's have three young ladies pray for Kayla on her birthday" as such is the Bible school custom. Why was there such over sight? Because, dear people, we were in Indianapolis at the time, running our brains into curly q's with all our activities, so such small things were quite unheard of!
That being said, despite these small absences, I had an incredible birthday. For one thing, we had no class. For another, instead of class or even doing work projects we all got to go to the Creation Museum. And, because there were so many of us spread out over three vans, when Craig announced over the walkie-talkies that my birthday minute was to come shortly upon us, I had the vast privilege of being sung to about four times in the space of four minutes. Once from one van, twice from the other van (the second verse was "May God bless you always, may God bless you always . . ."), and again from my own van. Only, as they had already sung to me on the commencement of our trip an hour earlier, they sang "Happy Birth Minute" to me instead.:)
Besides all this, instead of eating some random on-the-road meal from the coolers, we all got to go OUT to eat on my birthday. Craig had asked me a couple weeks before if I liked Fazoli's enough to go there on my birthday. Although I might have preferred falafel, I like Fazoli's, so I said, "Sure!" Thus, it was practically settled. And if that weren't enough, we all stopped for icecream on the way back! Or frozen custard, to be more precise. So I felt anything but cheated, I assure you. And yet . . .
. . . . Something can be said for the satisfaction of having your own birthday cake. Yes, eating ice cream out with friends is a very fine thing, but if you don't actually blow out candles, munch on the delectable stuff (cake, not candles) with family and friends, and then consume its rich toothsomeness little by little at your leisure because it's the one time in the year when you have every right to be a bit of a pig, a birthday just doesn't seem to have reached its full essence. So perhaps I can sympathize with my five-year-old friend Joel who claimed that it was still his birthday two days after the fact because he hadn't had his birthday cake. If you go by his definition, I just had a very long birthday indeed!
Anyway, my mom was determined that I should still have a birthday cake, even if we were on the road. So she bought the ice cream (being at Cara's for her birthday some years ago converted me to Aunt Ali's ice cream cakes :), stuck it in the freezer, and waited. The first few weeks after my birthday were buzzing with the activity of finishing up the school year and getting ready for graduation, then I continued living at Fairwood for the next two weeks as I did summer work, and then we went to Georgia, so no time seemed very convenient to re-celebrate the occasion. Until now.
I told mom she didn't have to bother with nineteen candles, but she did it anyway. And so, despite how silly it felt, everybody sang happy birthday to me one last time and I blew out my candles. I felt a little ridiculous, and I jokingly told John he should blow out the candles with me since his birthday was only four days away, but for some reason he didn't.
Thus, my birthday is officially at an end, according to Joel H.
But the evening didn't end there. The Karen guys left soon, but my mom wanted to watched a movie. "Under the Greenwood Tree" was one she had a fancy to watch since she had picked it up at the video rental store. My mom is a fan of BBC movies, and I'll admit that I am also, in a way. Who can't love an organization that puts out great movies of books by Austen, Dickens, and Gaskell? Ya gotta love people like that.
The story told in this movie, however, was not written by any Jane, Charlie, or Liz. In fact, I have no idea who wrote it. I was pretty sure, though, that it was the very same movie that my mom had rented a year or two before when just she, Daddy, and I were home, and I was pretty sure that it was a kissy movie. My mom, however, had no recollection of having ever heard of the film before in her life, so she in all innocence picked it up again and brought it home. Willing to humor her (I pride myself in my and even my brothers' well-rounded movie watching), we all sat down and launched into the romantic tale, even though my suspicions were quickly justified--it was the very same movie.
I will not pretend that the whole video was a misery to watch from start to finish. Although I never could figure out why it was given its title (they had many "takes" of what was presumably a greenwood tree, but nothing ever happened under it or any where near it), there were many chuckle-starting moments, like when the whole small church choir and orchestra fell into a drunken sleep in the balcony and the bass player fell on his instrument with his bow and the whole group woke with a start and began playing in a frenzy right during the middle of the sermon. Or when the jealous villagers poured liquor into the new organ and it started to sound drunk during the service. Despite the humor and relative decency of the movie, though, I can't deny that there were many scenarios that caused cringing. The best part about it though was this time my brothers were there to endure them with me, so we smacked our foreheads, hid our eyes, shook our heads, or laughed out loud all together at such moments as the "love at first sight" glimpse, or when the moonstruck fellow was still standing in the snow an hour later in exactly the same position, gazing at her window. If one must watch a corny movie, it is always much better to watch it with your brothers. After all, you don't have to feel too embarrassed that you're even watching the movie in the first place because they're watching it with you! Hence, you can enjoy it together in a much more delightful way.
Even if the mother who you're trying to bless is fast asleep in her chair almost the whole time.
Go, go, go, go, go! Yes!!! Michael's long-legged speed had enabled him to make it safely to first base. I found myself, once again, at a little league baseball game, an interesting glimpse into another small world. I watched the little kids bouncing around behind the bleachers, realizing that I was once exactly in their position about thirteen years ago when Clyde played little league. I remember going to some of the games, but I recall almost nothing else but walking around and being bored. A dozen years later, however, things are quite different. Sure, these aren't the Red Sox, but baseball is baseball. Still, I've hardly been to any of these little league games in recent years. Last summer I went to two of Michael and Gabriel's, but now Michael is in the Minor league (he's ten) and the kids actually do the pitching. That alone is pretty impressive, since a lot of those kids can probably throw and hit better than I can. *sigh*
Anyway, back to the game. After finishing Friday cleaning, my mom and I decided to go to at least part of Michael's game. We arrived, as it turned out, an hour and a quarter after the game began, but better late than never. However, Michael hadn't played a whole lot before then anyway, so we didn't miss much. As I said, he got a hit and made it to first base. Then the girl after him got hit by the pitch so he advanced to second base.
In response to other parents' inquiries, the mother of the girl limping to first answered unconcernedly, "She's fine. She'd be angry with me if I went over there. She knows where I am, so if she needs me she can find me. I'm just surprised she didn't wallop him back." Haha, sounds like the girl knows how to hold her own amongst a bunch of boys.
Back to Michael. He also made it to third base on a wild pitch, and then he ran for home on another wild pitch. With baited breath we watched him and the pitcher race for home as the catcher scooped up the ball. Would he make it? It looked a little bleak, but as the pitcher caught the ball while they both arrived--the pitcher dropped it! Michael was safe! He had scored! The bleachers went wild, especially our section, which was comprised of Andrea, Kimberly, Diane, Craig, my mom, and me. Quite the fan club.:) As I said, we pretty much went wild, but maybe in a slightly muted way. After all, we were in Dublin Field, not Fenway Park.
After we left, I had my mom drop me off at the town hall. Our town was having an open mike evening and my dad had taken the Karen guys down to watch and participate. They had tried to persuade me to bring my violin so with some reluctance I brought it in with me. The time was relaxing and extremely small. In fact, besides my dad and the three Karen guys, it was just one man and one lady. We still had some fun though. I played a couple of simple pieces that I happened to have memorized (Bach and Ashokan Farewell, a song, very popular at Del Rossi's and the weddings I've played for, that I've felt so well associated with for the past five years that it's weird to hear other people play it). The acoustics in the place were amazing, so it was very satisfying.
The man proved to be an excellent guitar player, able to follow along with a song even if he didn't know it. Apparently he's done some jamming with my Uncle Earl in the past, so my dad says. The lady played the guitar as well, and she had a fine country voice. With graying black hair that went past her waist, light jeans, cow boy boots, and red glasses, she got up on stage with her guitar and microphone and sang us some pieces that she'd written herself "a few years ago." They weren't too shabby either. One of them was one she'd written for her son when he graduated from high school, called "You are the Arrow, I am the Bow." Or something like that. But she strummed heartily and kissed that microphone with almost as much gusto for her six-person audience as she would have for a fawning crowd.
With the sun sinking, we excused ourselves and clambered into the car for home. The Karen guys then joined us for Sabbath meeting (I guess Mercy and Htee Khu had kind of turned in for the evening), and we had a pleasant evening with them. I'm blessed with great cousins, I gotta tell ya! Two weeks before, we had all of the Karen kids plus Erinn up to our house for Sabbath meeting and we had a smashing time visiting with them. The guys told us all kinds of funny stories about their antics in Thailand. Like how there was a live wire in school and they used to put frogs on it and turn the light on. Or how Mark brought a "dead" snake into class one time and it turned out to be alive (Aunt June wasn't too thrilled:). There were others, I'm sure, but they told these stories with such animation and effect (Htoo Eh has amazing story-telling skills--just picture him when he's fluent in English!) that they kept us laughing for quite some time. This evening, however, wasn't as long or as entertaining, but they still made me laugh nonetheless. But I suppose that such a skill isn't so very hard to acquire if you're trying to induce me into laughter.
After our brief meeting and visiting, we then partook of my birthday cake. I know what you're thinking. One may know someone's birthday without knowing them well, but one cannot know someone well unless you know at least roughly when their birthday is. So, since of course most of my readers know me well, you are scratching your well-placed scalps. My birthday is in April. It is now the month of June. Something doesn't compute! Well, my cake was not nearly two months old, it just was rather--er, late.
You see, on my birthday, I had no cake. I know, what a travesty! Yes, I had no birthday cake, no birthday banner, no carefully selected birthday menu, no "let's have three young ladies pray for Kayla on her birthday" as such is the Bible school custom. Why was there such over sight? Because, dear people, we were in Indianapolis at the time, running our brains into curly q's with all our activities, so such small things were quite unheard of!
That being said, despite these small absences, I had an incredible birthday. For one thing, we had no class. For another, instead of class or even doing work projects we all got to go to the Creation Museum. And, because there were so many of us spread out over three vans, when Craig announced over the walkie-talkies that my birthday minute was to come shortly upon us, I had the vast privilege of being sung to about four times in the space of four minutes. Once from one van, twice from the other van (the second verse was "May God bless you always, may God bless you always . . ."), and again from my own van. Only, as they had already sung to me on the commencement of our trip an hour earlier, they sang "Happy Birth Minute" to me instead.:)
Besides all this, instead of eating some random on-the-road meal from the coolers, we all got to go OUT to eat on my birthday. Craig had asked me a couple weeks before if I liked Fazoli's enough to go there on my birthday. Although I might have preferred falafel, I like Fazoli's, so I said, "Sure!" Thus, it was practically settled. And if that weren't enough, we all stopped for icecream on the way back! Or frozen custard, to be more precise. So I felt anything but cheated, I assure you. And yet . . .
. . . . Something can be said for the satisfaction of having your own birthday cake. Yes, eating ice cream out with friends is a very fine thing, but if you don't actually blow out candles, munch on the delectable stuff (cake, not candles) with family and friends, and then consume its rich toothsomeness little by little at your leisure because it's the one time in the year when you have every right to be a bit of a pig, a birthday just doesn't seem to have reached its full essence. So perhaps I can sympathize with my five-year-old friend Joel who claimed that it was still his birthday two days after the fact because he hadn't had his birthday cake. If you go by his definition, I just had a very long birthday indeed!
Anyway, my mom was determined that I should still have a birthday cake, even if we were on the road. So she bought the ice cream (being at Cara's for her birthday some years ago converted me to Aunt Ali's ice cream cakes :), stuck it in the freezer, and waited. The first few weeks after my birthday were buzzing with the activity of finishing up the school year and getting ready for graduation, then I continued living at Fairwood for the next two weeks as I did summer work, and then we went to Georgia, so no time seemed very convenient to re-celebrate the occasion. Until now.
I told mom she didn't have to bother with nineteen candles, but she did it anyway. And so, despite how silly it felt, everybody sang happy birthday to me one last time and I blew out my candles. I felt a little ridiculous, and I jokingly told John he should blow out the candles with me since his birthday was only four days away, but for some reason he didn't.
Thus, my birthday is officially at an end, according to Joel H.
But the evening didn't end there. The Karen guys left soon, but my mom wanted to watched a movie. "Under the Greenwood Tree" was one she had a fancy to watch since she had picked it up at the video rental store. My mom is a fan of BBC movies, and I'll admit that I am also, in a way. Who can't love an organization that puts out great movies of books by Austen, Dickens, and Gaskell? Ya gotta love people like that.
The story told in this movie, however, was not written by any Jane, Charlie, or Liz. In fact, I have no idea who wrote it. I was pretty sure, though, that it was the very same movie that my mom had rented a year or two before when just she, Daddy, and I were home, and I was pretty sure that it was a kissy movie. My mom, however, had no recollection of having ever heard of the film before in her life, so she in all innocence picked it up again and brought it home. Willing to humor her (I pride myself in my and even my brothers' well-rounded movie watching), we all sat down and launched into the romantic tale, even though my suspicions were quickly justified--it was the very same movie.
I will not pretend that the whole video was a misery to watch from start to finish. Although I never could figure out why it was given its title (they had many "takes" of what was presumably a greenwood tree, but nothing ever happened under it or any where near it), there were many chuckle-starting moments, like when the whole small church choir and orchestra fell into a drunken sleep in the balcony and the bass player fell on his instrument with his bow and the whole group woke with a start and began playing in a frenzy right during the middle of the sermon. Or when the jealous villagers poured liquor into the new organ and it started to sound drunk during the service. Despite the humor and relative decency of the movie, though, I can't deny that there were many scenarios that caused cringing. The best part about it though was this time my brothers were there to endure them with me, so we smacked our foreheads, hid our eyes, shook our heads, or laughed out loud all together at such moments as the "love at first sight" glimpse, or when the moonstruck fellow was still standing in the snow an hour later in exactly the same position, gazing at her window. If one must watch a corny movie, it is always much better to watch it with your brothers. After all, you don't have to feel too embarrassed that you're even watching the movie in the first place because they're watching it with you! Hence, you can enjoy it together in a much more delightful way.
Even if the mother who you're trying to bless is fast asleep in her chair almost the whole time.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A brain fooled by itself
Have you ever looked at a word and been convinced it said something else? Recently I borrowed a book from Clyde that was written by Jane Austen and "another lady." (Yes, I know, it sounded sketchy, but although a few things might have varied from Austen's principles, the humorous character descriptions were quite similar) The book was entitled Sandition. Or so I thought. Sandition was the name of the village where almost the entire story took place, therefore it was mentioned quite frequently and I became quite familiar with the name. After reading the book I was talking to Clyde about it (I thought maybe I should at least let him know that I borrowed it, good brother that he is).
"Do you mean Sanditon?" he asked me.
Convinced that he was trying to show off his fancy French pronunciation skills, I replied, "No, I think it's English." Sandition, after all, is pronounced Sandi-SHUN in English and not Sandi-TON. Made sense to me.
It wasn't until later when I picked up the book and looked at it that I read the title accurately for the first time. In plain bold English, it read, "Sanditon."
Eh? Do you mean to tell me that I read an entire 309 page book without once reading the name of the village correctly? Apparently. Even if I might have read it right several times, I think I assumed it was a typo.
I guess it's possible for your brain to believe anything once it's convinced itself.
"Do you mean Sanditon?" he asked me.
Convinced that he was trying to show off his fancy French pronunciation skills, I replied, "No, I think it's English." Sandition, after all, is pronounced Sandi-SHUN in English and not Sandi-TON. Made sense to me.
It wasn't until later when I picked up the book and looked at it that I read the title accurately for the first time. In plain bold English, it read, "Sanditon."
Eh? Do you mean to tell me that I read an entire 309 page book without once reading the name of the village correctly? Apparently. Even if I might have read it right several times, I think I assumed it was a typo.
I guess it's possible for your brain to believe anything once it's convinced itself.
Shopping fears realized
I am not a huge shopping kind of girl. For one thing, I despise spending more than a few dollars on clothes. Why waste money on name-brand stuff if there's a perfectly good second hand store down the street? Give me a good bookstore and I'm as happy as a slobbery puppy. Give me a large Goodwill and I'm creaky, prune-skinned lady in heaven. However, if circumstances are such that I have a chunk of money to spend on quality clothes, I might stop sticking my nose up at an outlet mall if given the chance. With that being said, last week I DID have some birthday money to buy a dress, so for perhaps one of the first times I found myself earnestly searching the outlets for the perfect one. The good news is that I'm very picky when it comes to dresses so it's easy to glance at a rack and decisively determine that not a one of them will do. The bad news is that because I am terribly picky there is almost nothing out there in the modern world that will suit my standards of taste, modesty, and price. And of course size is something to be considered as well, since there are styles in the little girls' store that fit the above criteria. But then, as those dresses I might look at wistfully wouldn't be modest even if they DID fit over my head, I suppose they might just fall into the modesty category after all.
So I found my inexperienced self perusing outlets in both PA and GA last week, donning the air of an expert when I'm actually a novice. Squashing my fears and hesitations, I plunged into store after store, trying to take a brief survey through the window first to determine if this were the appropriate kind of store. What is the appropriate kind of store, you might ask? Well, to be quite honest, I've long lived in a kind of fear that I'll find myself unwittingly browsing a maternity store. I have indeed studied certain sections of Target, only to realize with a blush (a blush in spirit, if not in actuality) that I won't be needing such clothes for quite some time now, if ever. Then I hastily back away, furtively looking about in hopes that nobody noticed my faux pas. So as I said, I usually gave the store a quick survey through the window before entering. As long as it wasn't a men's store, I was okay. As long as it wasn't a maternity or even a plus-sized women's store, I was golden.
It's amazing how the atmosphere of a store can often indicate what kind of things they sell and what kind of prices they have. For instance, I was struck by two extremes. In one store they played loud bumpy music, used dark colors in their decorating, and had many girls rifling through their loaded racks that were full of overly trendy, cheap clothes. I despise the overly trendy, and even though their prices ($5, $10) looked good, I high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly because the place felt creepy. On the other hand, I went into one or two other stores where the atmosphere was light, the clothes looked elegant, the music was played softly or replaced with an eery silence, and there was hardly a soul present. One glance at the price tags told me why, and after moseying about pretending to look interested, I slipped out of there because once again I felt out of place, only for very different reasons.
On the last day of my shopping ventures, I plowed through the stores with my mom. Most of the time we went inside the stores together, but sometimes we separated for a few minutes while she skipped ahead to a shoe store and I checked out the two or three clothing stores between where we were and the shoe store. On one of these occasions, not seeing my mom come out of the store ahead, I was bent to kill time, so I went into a store without doing my customary survey to see what they were. I sneaked in, trying to look like I had a purpose so no one would offer to help me out. In the last store I had let the lady show me around and I determined this time that I just wanted to casually look for myself. Unfortunately, a store worker took notice of me and hailed me, so I threw off my guilt and greeted her warmly. Could she help me look for anything? No, thank you. Was I shopping for myself? Ah, yes, I was.
"Well, in that case," she said politely, taking in my bony frame in one quick glance and pretending to ignore it, "you should know that we only sell size 14 and up."
Oh.
Ow.
Oops.
How embarrassing!
I thanked her, and hurriedly--without appearing too hurried--made my escape. One of my worst shopping fears had been realized. I had ignorantly wandered into a plus-sized women's store! Horrors!!! Mind you, I have nothing against plus-sized women, their sizes, or their stores. However, the fact that I found myself there unwittingly and the store people KNEW it could have bothered me to an extreme. Why couldn't they have just kindly minded their own business and let me make the discovery on my own? In that case at least I could have pretended I was looking for something for some relative and saved some face about it. Why is it that Southern store people are just extra pesky? Don't they understand that I'm a Northerner and just like to be left alone? Ah, the woefulness of me!
Actually, after exiting the store I chuckled to myself, if not a little sheepishly. It might have been rather embarrassing, but I was not too scathed. If that's my worst shopping fear, it really can't get much worse than that not too harrowing experience. Unless, perhaps, I walked into a maternity store . . . or a men's plus-sized maternity store, but that's kind of unlikely.
So I found my inexperienced self perusing outlets in both PA and GA last week, donning the air of an expert when I'm actually a novice. Squashing my fears and hesitations, I plunged into store after store, trying to take a brief survey through the window first to determine if this were the appropriate kind of store. What is the appropriate kind of store, you might ask? Well, to be quite honest, I've long lived in a kind of fear that I'll find myself unwittingly browsing a maternity store. I have indeed studied certain sections of Target, only to realize with a blush (a blush in spirit, if not in actuality) that I won't be needing such clothes for quite some time now, if ever. Then I hastily back away, furtively looking about in hopes that nobody noticed my faux pas. So as I said, I usually gave the store a quick survey through the window before entering. As long as it wasn't a men's store, I was okay. As long as it wasn't a maternity or even a plus-sized women's store, I was golden.
It's amazing how the atmosphere of a store can often indicate what kind of things they sell and what kind of prices they have. For instance, I was struck by two extremes. In one store they played loud bumpy music, used dark colors in their decorating, and had many girls rifling through their loaded racks that were full of overly trendy, cheap clothes. I despise the overly trendy, and even though their prices ($5, $10) looked good, I high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly because the place felt creepy. On the other hand, I went into one or two other stores where the atmosphere was light, the clothes looked elegant, the music was played softly or replaced with an eery silence, and there was hardly a soul present. One glance at the price tags told me why, and after moseying about pretending to look interested, I slipped out of there because once again I felt out of place, only for very different reasons.
On the last day of my shopping ventures, I plowed through the stores with my mom. Most of the time we went inside the stores together, but sometimes we separated for a few minutes while she skipped ahead to a shoe store and I checked out the two or three clothing stores between where we were and the shoe store. On one of these occasions, not seeing my mom come out of the store ahead, I was bent to kill time, so I went into a store without doing my customary survey to see what they were. I sneaked in, trying to look like I had a purpose so no one would offer to help me out. In the last store I had let the lady show me around and I determined this time that I just wanted to casually look for myself. Unfortunately, a store worker took notice of me and hailed me, so I threw off my guilt and greeted her warmly. Could she help me look for anything? No, thank you. Was I shopping for myself? Ah, yes, I was.
"Well, in that case," she said politely, taking in my bony frame in one quick glance and pretending to ignore it, "you should know that we only sell size 14 and up."
Oh.
Ow.
Oops.
How embarrassing!
I thanked her, and hurriedly--without appearing too hurried--made my escape. One of my worst shopping fears had been realized. I had ignorantly wandered into a plus-sized women's store! Horrors!!! Mind you, I have nothing against plus-sized women, their sizes, or their stores. However, the fact that I found myself there unwittingly and the store people KNEW it could have bothered me to an extreme. Why couldn't they have just kindly minded their own business and let me make the discovery on my own? In that case at least I could have pretended I was looking for something for some relative and saved some face about it. Why is it that Southern store people are just extra pesky? Don't they understand that I'm a Northerner and just like to be left alone? Ah, the woefulness of me!
Actually, after exiting the store I chuckled to myself, if not a little sheepishly. It might have been rather embarrassing, but I was not too scathed. If that's my worst shopping fear, it really can't get much worse than that not too harrowing experience. Unless, perhaps, I walked into a maternity store . . . or a men's plus-sized maternity store, but that's kind of unlikely.
Prayer makes a difference
Sometimes, there comes a point when we just need to stop trying or worrying and say, "Thy will be done."
I had an opportunity to sort of practice this several weeks ago. As I commenced my summer work here at Fairwood, Kendra came and told me that Mom had just taken Daddy into the ER that morning. To sum it all up briefly, Daddy had a "heart event" in which one artery was 90% blocked and he had to stay in the hospital a couple of days. Shortly after I first heard the news I was sweeping the back hall of the Main House, thinking about him and praying. I don't remember all that went through my head at that time, but one thing I do remember is that after I had prayed and committed Daddy into God's hands, the words of a frequently sung hymn came to me:
I had an opportunity to sort of practice this several weeks ago. As I commenced my summer work here at Fairwood, Kendra came and told me that Mom had just taken Daddy into the ER that morning. To sum it all up briefly, Daddy had a "heart event" in which one artery was 90% blocked and he had to stay in the hospital a couple of days. Shortly after I first heard the news I was sweeping the back hall of the Main House, thinking about him and praying. I don't remember all that went through my head at that time, but one thing I do remember is that after I had prayed and committed Daddy into God's hands, the words of a frequently sung hymn came to me:
Come want or come wealth,
Come life or come death,
Thy will, oh my Father, be done.
Come life or come death,
Thy will, oh my Father, be done.
I realized then that if I ever meant that song I would have to mean it now. And so, I decided that I could fret and stress, or I could trust God and be fine. I chose to trust God.
It's almost disturbing how peaceful I felt the rest of the week. I was almost worried that I wasn't more worried! Naturally, I got really scared maybe once but trusting God really diminished my fear and anxiety to a low simmering concern most of the time.
I realized later from encouraging notes and from conversations I had with people that all this peace was most likely a result of many people's prayers. So I want to thank you all who prayed for us. Your prayers definitely made a difference!
It's almost disturbing how peaceful I felt the rest of the week. I was almost worried that I wasn't more worried! Naturally, I got really scared maybe once but trusting God really diminished my fear and anxiety to a low simmering concern most of the time.
I realized later from encouraging notes and from conversations I had with people that all this peace was most likely a result of many people's prayers. So I want to thank you all who prayed for us. Your prayers definitely made a difference!
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