The Unromantic Prince

Here's a humble tale I haphazardly composed today "just for fun." It's been a long time since I've written a story for pleasure!

"Quiddlyoomph," a miniature booming voice squeaked from my breast pocket. Please don't ask me how a voice can boom and squeak at the same time. If you knew my gecko friend, you would know.

I blinked in mild surprise at my pocket. "What did you say?" I asked.

"You heard me," was the terse answer. "Quiddlyoomph. It is my new expression to convey annoyance. Much more eloquent than 'humph,' I dare say." Martin, my friend and constant companion, blinked his beady eyes at me as if to say, "Just you try to argue with me." I didn't even want to try.

"Oh, very well, old chap," I replied. "'Quiddlyoomph' all you want, I suppose, though I must say it's a trifle distracting. I could have fallen over backward into that chasm I was just leaping over, just from the mere shock of the thing. I hope you weren't too badly jarred from the leap, old fellow."

Martin's black eyes looked like they went through a reverse clay baking process. That is, one moment they were hard and beady, the next they were moist lumps of clay. "Oh, if you must shake me up a bit in here in order to save lives, I suppose I can try not to complain. I'll limit myself to minor tits of 'quiddle'; now how does that sound?"

"Capital," I answered, and smiled. Now back to business. Casually I strode toward the ancient castle before me, whose broken bridge I had just leaped over. The whole premises was a perfect specimen of fossilized magnificence. If it weren't for the broken bridge, huge masses of overgrown brambles, and the faint sound of rusty chains grinding, I would have supposed the place was in its prime, not unlike my own castle, where I lived with my parents and twelve sisters.

I drew my sword (a hag had given it to me before coming here) and slashed easily through the brambles. The average branches were only six inches in diameter so I had no trouble.

"You know, you might be disappointing that hag by how easily you're cutting through those," Martin observed from my pocket. "She was quite convinced that these brambles would be impossible for you unless you wielded her magic sword. I'm afraid you're not allowing the magic enough time to kick in."

"Oh, sorry," I said, and paused my slicing. "Do you suppose I should wait a bit and do this more slowly? Would that be the kindest thing to do?"

Martin rolled his eyes. Don't ask me how one can tell that a gecko with no irises is rolling his eyes. Friends just have a sixth sense about these things.

"Don't bother," he said. "We may as well get on with it. The king and queen, in fact, the whole royal family is quite anxious that you don't blow it this time."

"I know," I replied, a little embarrassed. "I truly wish I could give everybody satisfaction, but you see it's rather difficult to do that and maintain my convictions of kindness and chivalry."

"I know, I know," Martin sighed. "But you don't have to be quite so concerned for the well-being of others. Like the time when the queen arranged it for you to be turned into a frog. Why, that maiden actually wanted to kiss you, and you had to spoil everything and run away from her!"

I was a little hurt. "I told her quite positively that she would get warts if she touched me, and it was only for fear of her own safety that I fled so I wouldn't have to inflict such a hardship on her."

"But then she chased you," Martin pointed out. "Didn't that kind of give you a hint that she actually didn't care if she got warts or not? And besides, frogs don't give warts. The myth is that toads do, so your excuses were extra erroneous."

"Oh," I said, a little crestfallen. How stupid I was! Perhaps I should have let the poor girl kiss me after all.

Martin chuckled, "I must say, however, that it was quite the amusing sight to see that prim and proper maiden chase you about the swamp through mud and slime. She was so determined to marry a prince!"

I smiled at the recollection. "Yes, that was kind of funny, wasn't it? And I rather enjoyed having such springy legs, enabling me to always be one hop out of her reach." I sobered a little. "But the queen was furious with me afterwards."

"She was," Martin agreed. "But then she always is. Especially after that whole situation with Rapunzel. That was really pathetic, you know, and especially embarrassing because Rodrigo, your old rival, ended up with the prize! Was climbing up the girl's hair really that hard to do?"

I was a little offended this time. "How could you say such a thing, Martin? Of course the actually climb would have been nothing, but when she offered me her tresses as a climbing device all I could think of was Sanders."

"Sanders?" Martin asked skeptically. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Sanders, as you know, was my tutor. One of my more strict tutors," I grimaced. My scalp just tingled at the thought of him. "And he had a habit of pulling my hair, yes, and even dragging me by my hair, even insisting that I not walk so that it would hurt all the more."

"Oy, no wonder your father got rid of him," Martin winced sympathetically, which was quite remarkable considering the fact that he'd never had any hair in his life. I nodded. "But," Martin persisted, "what does Sanders have to do with Rapunzel?"

"Everything," I told him. "When her long hair hung down by me all I could think of was Sanders, and I couldn't imagine bestowing such excruciating pain on this fair damsel by hanging my whole weight on her lovely locks. I knew those locks were still attached to her scalp, you see."

"I never thought of that," Martin said quietly, apparently touched. "But how come she didn't appreciate your thoughtfulness?"

"Well, after working for two hours to climb up the face of the tower (there were hardly any footholds, you know, and what crevices there were never exceeded an inch in measurement), I finally arrived at Rapunzel's window. She was rather frightened when she first saw me, and then she grew very angry. 'What? You mean I've been waiting and growing my hair this long for nothing?' Then she pushed me out the window. I managed to scrabble at tiny nooks in the wall enough to break my fall so I wasn't too badly injured."

"You mean you only took two hours to climb up practically bare rock face? And then she was foolish enough to not see your heroism and shove you out the window? Quiddlyoomph! Sounds like she wasn't worth it anyway."

I shrugged and continued. "As I was surveying the damage done to my body (only a couple broken bones, nothing to be too concerned about), Rodrigo appeared. He would have liked to think that he appeared in magnificent splendor, but I knew he was just appearing so he could one up me. He had watched the whole episode, and so he came and asked Rapunzel to let down her golden hair. Down it came, up he went, and the rest is history."

"Good riddance," Martin snapped. "Sounds like they deserved each other."

I said nothing. I had allowed my sword strokes to slow down to let the magic kick in (the sword must have been magic because the weapon still sliced the thickest brambles even though I was only using an ounce of my strength), and now the path to the main gate of the castle was open. I stopped, taken aback, but then I realized that I shouldn't have been. Wasn't my mother always trying to come up with some extraordinary way for me to find a bride? And didn't I overhear her say that this castle was enchanted? Asleep, would have been the better term, for sitting a few paces in front of me were two guards in heavy slumber, leaning against their spears.

And then I knew what the noise I had been hearing was. What had at first sounded like rusty chains grinding was in fact the sound of snoring. Lots of snoring.

After trying to awaken the two guards, ("Dear sirs, you must awake!" "Open sesame, oh eyes!") I managed to open the heavy, half-rotten gates and the sound of snoring only heightened. It was not a continual sound, but a continual sporadic jumble, quite like the sound of popcorn popping. Only, as I walked into the courtyard, this popcorn was all around me as if I were in a surround-sound amphitheater of frogs. Here was a guard I had just passed, letting loose an ominous growl from deep within his barrel-like chest. Here was the high-pitched chortle of a stable boy who must have been crossing the yard on some errand. And there was the delicate, pinched snore of a scullery maid, or the faint sighs of a grand young lady leaning against the dilapidated steps of a carriage. Everywhere were people scattered here in there in noisy repose, dreaming dreams of thunderous splendor. Sometimes, by chance, certain snores came in unison, other times in harmony.

"Looks like we have a choir," Martin remarked dryly. "This might be your most interesting adventure yet. Let's go find the princess."

I gazed at my friend, not surprised by his attitude. A feeling of dread filled me. Did I really want to go through with this? A part of me so longed to do the right thing, to be accepted by my family and even a lovely girl, but I felt like I was going about it in the wrong way. Why did finding a bride have to be something wrapped up in glamor and excitement? Wouldn't it be just as romantic if I met an ordinary girl that I loved, asked her to marry me and she said yes? No bells or whistles?

"Martin, I have a feeling I'm going to mess up again," I told my friend. He looked sharply at me. I sighed. "But I do so want to do the right thing."

"You always do the right thing," my gecko friend's emphatic words pounded into my skull. This time I was astounded, and I searched his green little face for sarcasm but saw none. "Never mind the fact that you don't always do what pleases your bossy mother, or your father, for that matter. And forget your silly sisters. You've always done the most gracious and most right thing anybody could have thought of, unlike some princes I could name."

"Martin, I can take disparaging comments about Rodrigo, but if you're talking about Michael I won't have anything said maligning him," I said.

"Oh, I know you won't," Martin retorted, exasperated. "But you were so close, Jed! You had the glass slipper in your hand, you had the sweet little lady's trim foot in the other, and all you had to do was slip the thing on and ask her if she would marry you, but you didn't."

"I was thinking how uncomfortable a glass slipper must really be," I answered calmly. "I looked at it and saw that it was not shaped to fit the contour of one's foot, and judging by the size of the shoe and her foot, I could tell that the shoe was one centimeter too small. I couldn't bear to jam it onto her like that. Oh she would have pretended that her tears were tears of joy but I would have known better. I just couldn't do it to her."

"So you handed the shoe to that Michael instead," Martin said.

"My friend Michael," I corrected him.

"Oh yes," Martin replied. I could tell his head was practically bulging with sarcasm now. "Your nice friend who stole the closest chance you'd ever had to happiness! Why did you do it, Jed?"

"I could tell that she liked him," I replied stiffly. "And I could tell that he liked her. I knew it wouldn't make much difference to her which prince she married, so I figured that two people may as well be happy because I knew that in my case we could not."

"Yes, yes, I know," Martin nodded, resigned. "But I don't think she got the real Prince Charming, in my opinion."

"Thank you, Martin," I still spoke stiffly, but I was really grateful for his regard. "But I know that you're a little biased."

Martin snorted. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

I nodded, and proceeded to enter the castle. Up and down the long passageways and great halls we traversed (rather, I traversed, Martin enjoyed the view from my pocket), brushing aside the many cobwebs that obstructed our path. I didn't even bother to use the sword on them, although I suspected that the "enchanted" sword would do an extra good job. It was beneath me and my sword to use it on cobwebs.

"I saw Katherine the other day," Martin remarked. He looked slyly up at me.

"Really, where?" I tried not to sound too eager.

"Out tending the goats."

I smacked my head. Of course, I should have checked the fields!

Katherine was the daughter of one my mother's former ladies in waiting. We had grown up playing together, but as we got older my mother had decided that it was unfit for me to associate with someone so far below my station, so she had removed Katherine from our royal presence. It wasn't until I was in the kitchen dutifully calling on a princess (my mother had persuaded her to disguise herself as a scullery maid--it was another of my mother's romantic schemes) that I discovered that Katherine was also employed as a scullery maid. The princess ended up marrying another prince (a friend of mine who was visiting at the time), but Katherine had disappeared. I had searched all the servant halls and even the village; I had even entreated my mother to let me see Katherine again, but all my efforts had proven fruitless.

I wrenched my mind to the task at hand. This had to be the room. We were in the tallest of towers, and I was quite sure the princess would not be in a dungeon. I reached the top of the stairs (I had scaled 123 of them mindlessly and effortlessly) and here was a door. I nodded at Martin, then pushed the door. It opened slowly with a shrill and ponderous creak.

Inside there was a bed, and on this bed lay a beautiful princess. I was hardly dumbfounded. Her golden curls (not nearly as long as Rapunzel's) were spread so as to delicately wreathe her pretty face, and her hands were gently clasped over her (her hands weren't as grasping as the princess who wanted to kiss a frog), and a trim little foot peaked out from under her full pink dress (the foot wasn't quite as small as Cinderella's). I would have thought she was dead except for the giggly snore that resounded all around her, as well as the faint trace of fresh drool that trickled from her rosebud lips.

"Well?" Martin asked.

"Well?" I pretended to look clueless.

"Well?" Martin was not famous for patience. "Aren't you going to kiss her?"

I involuntarily recoiled in horror. "Kiss . . . a beautiful maiden . . . invade her personal space without her permission . . . before we're even engaged?" I was incredulous to say the least. How could anyone expect this of me? The thought of kissing her was not quite so abhorrent to me personally (although I eyed the line of drool a little distastefully), but I couldn't imagine crushing this girl's poor innocence or going beyond the realm of propriety for her sake. Why, her reputation could be ruined by such a foolish action! I would just as soon destroy her virginity.

"Well, at the very least you could administer some CPR," Martin pointed out. "She looks like she could need it."

Sure enough, the snoring had ceased, and her frame lay very still with no gentle heaving. "You're right," I said. "It would be most inconsiderate to not help the poor girl when I know she's in distress." Glancing rapidly around the room (my eye took in the spindle and a bed of straw), I picked up a fat piece of straw and examined it. Having been assured that it was hollow, I carefully placed one end in the girl's mouth and gently closed her lips around it. Then I blew forcefully through the other end, administering CPR in such a decorous manner that I knew it could in nowise be offensive to any lady being treated by a strange man. I was only glad that I had brushed my teeth that morning.

Minutes later, the princess's breathing resumed and her eye lids fluttered open. Startled, she stared at me peering down at her at the other end of the straw. Then her eyes crossed as she took in the straw. I quickly removed it, and backed away to give her space, bowing slightly.

"Wha--" she looked very confused. "You were supposed to kiss me! Oh, this isn't the LEAST bit romantic!" And with that exclamation, she burst into tears.

****************************************************************

"I'm not happy, Prince Jedidiah," my mother informed me coldly. "Not happy."

"I'm very sorry about Princess Aurora, Mother," I said. "But I must tell you that I am very happy. Exceedingly happy. You see, Mother, I'm finally getting married."

The queen sat down abruptly in her chair, looking like she was about to choke. "And to what kingdom," she stammered as she regained her composure. "Does this princess belong?"

"To this kingdom, dear Mother."

She looked shocked, "Jedidiah, you know that marriage to one of your sisters is quite out of the question!"

"Of course I know that, Mother," I laughed, although I was very relieved. I'm sure if it hadn't been wrong both morally and legally my mother in desperation WOULD have made me marry one of my sisters. I love my sisters, but not in that sort of way. "No, and this lady isn't a princess yet."

"Not a princess?" Again, shock and horror.

"No, but she will be when I marry her," I stated.

"Oh," this had obviously never occurred to the queen before now. "And what, pray, were the circumstances of your engagement?"

"Quite romantic enough for everybody concerned, Mother," I assured her. "I proposed to her on the manure pile and after falling over and sliding down to her feet she said yes."

My mother fainted, but I decided not to be too concerned for her. I knew she would get over it.

You see, for the first time I realized that the kindest thing wasn't to keep on agreeing to these "bride schemes" of my mother's. Not only were they disappointing to everybody concerned whenever I failed their expectations, but I realized that even if I did succeed it would be discourteous to the princess I had won. Because, you see, my heart had long belonged to another, and to pretend otherwise would have been abominable behavior indeed. So I married Katherine, and the circumstances of our engagement were certainly romantic enough for both of us. Who needs to come up romantic circumstances when there's already romance between two people?

As Martin would say, "Quiddlyoomph."

Vacation updates

New status updates:

Kayla just finished a peach smoothie expertly concocted by her brother.

Kayla is kept laughing whenever she watches her parents regularly tease each other. Vacation is never boring.

Kayla has been inhaling tales of The Mysterious Benedict Society.

Kayla is happy that Craig came on vacation too.

Sermons in bite-sized pieces

Through the course of the past year or so, I had occasion to come across several quotes that I've written down for my (and your) interest and edification.

Be still and know
Be still, let go
Be still and know
That I am God.

Oh what I would do to have
The kind of faith it takes to climb out this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is
And He's holding out His hand
But the waves are calling out my name
And they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed
The waves, they keep telling me
Time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win. You'll never win!"

But the Voice of Truth
Tells me a different story
The Voice of Truth
Says, "Do not be afraid."
And the Voice of Truth
Says, "This is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe
The Voice of Truth.

(I find that very encouraging as I gear up to be a counselor for my first time in a couple of weeks!)

"If you have given your heart to Jesus, Jesus has already given Himself to you."
--Max Lucado

"Wear the mask until you become conformed to it."
--C. S. Lewis

"Your time with God should last long enough for you to say what you want and for God to say what He wants."
--Max Lucado, Just Like Jesus

"Obedience is the doorway into joy."
--TFM

"I will serve Thee because I love Thee."

"I need no other sunshine than the sunshine of Thy face."

"We can enter into the holiest and find ourselves, not smitten down, but at home."
--TFM

"What you say 'wow' about is a form of worship."
--NRS

"Every time we claim victory, it drive the Truth in deeper."
--Dan M.

"We should become what we are."
--John Piper

"The key to changing the world is having Christians in joint with God."
--NRS

"God uses unexpected people to use unexpected tools to see His work done."
--NRS

"We may not have the opportunity to die for Christ, but we have the opportunity to live for Christ." --Ben H.

"When we look on and see what Jesus has done for us, there's no way we can be apathetic."
--Clyde S.

"Beholding the face of God is not a future hope, it's a present reality."
--Dan P.

"There's a battle out there, but sometimes the battle is just to see that there's a battle."
--Dennis P.

"Pressing on with zeal to be a living sacrifice to Thee."

"The glory of God is man fully alive."
--Saint Irenaeus

"We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us . . ."
--Nelson Mandela

"It is the image of God reflected in you that so enrages hell; it is this at which the demons hurl their mightiest weapons."
--William Gurnall

"If it doesn't bring freedom and it doesn't bring life, it's not Christianity. If it doesn't restore the image of God and rejoice in the heart, it's not Christianity."
--John Eldrige, Waking the Dead (the three previous quotes were in his book as well)

"I ended my first book with the words no answer. I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?"
--C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

Thou art a sea without a shore;
Awful, immense Thou art,
A sea which can contract itself
Within my narrow heart.
--Faber

"When faith becomes obedience then it is true faith indeed."
--A.W. Tozer

"It had opened her eyes to the fact that right down in the depths of her own heart she really had but one passionate desire, not for the things which the Shepherd had promised, but for Himself. All she wanted was to be allowed to follow Him forever. Other desires might clamor strongly and fiercely nearer the surface of her nature, but she knew now that down in the core of her own being she was so shaped that nothing could fit, fill, or satisfy her heart but He Himself."
--Hannah Hurnard, Hinds' Feet on High Places

"When people worship anyone or anything besides Him, they become like it. God has better intentions for His people."
--Steven C. Hawthorne, The Story of His Glory

"By wooing people into true worship, God is able to fully bestow His love upon them."
--Steven C. Hawthorne, The Story of His Glory

". . . the ultimate value of their salvation is not what they are saved from, but what they are saved for that really matters."
--Hawthorne

"God is not just loving people. He is transforming them to become people who can fully love Him." --Hawthorne

"Human enthusiasm cannot sustain apostolic passion."
--Floyd McClung, Apostolic Passion

"If you have apostolic passion, you are one of the most dangerous people on the planet. The world no longer rules your heart . . . The Father's passions have become your passions. You find your satisfaction and significance in Him . . . You are sold out to God, and you live for the Lamb."
--Floyd McClung, Apostolic Passion

"Great victory has never been possible without great sacrifice."
--Sameul Zwemer, The Glory of the Impossible

"Do not pray for easy lives; pray to be stronger men. Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers; pray for powers equal to your tasks. Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you shall be a miracle."
--Bishop Phillips Brooks (?)

"There is no instance of an Apostle being driven abroad under the compulsion of a bald command. Each one went as a lover to his betrothed on his appointed errand."
--Samuel Zwemer, The Glory of the Impossible

"Look at yourself, and you are horrified,
Look at Him, and your are glorified."
--quoted in class by Dan M., but I don't know if he came up with it or someone else did.

"The Bride lets God define beauty."
--Dan M.

"To be a witness does not consist in engaging propaganda, not even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist."
--Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water

"Oh boy! I'm going to devour more of God's Word!"
--TFM's interpretation of Jeremiah's attitude in Jer. 15:16

"The steadfast love of Jehovah never ceases; His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness."
Lam. 3 something

"God loves the stupid woman."
--TFM

"When you stand your ground, the devil loses his."

"One thing is needful."

"Cling to the heart of God, even when His ways don't make sense."
--Dan M.

"The good is the enemy of the best."
--NRS

"If the Enemy reminds you of your past, you remind him of his future."

"He is good. I am His."

"Faith that is sure of itself is not faith; faith that is sure of God is the only faith there is."
--Oswald Chambers

"God used the worst act ever committed by wicked men to accomplish the greatest good the world has ever known."
--Dan M. (he could have been quoting; my notes weren't clear)

"Faith steps out into the seeming void and finds the Rock beneath."

"Because her identification was embodied not in who she was but in who her bridegroom was--her beauty was reflected beauty."
--Jerry Benjamin, Who Has the Right to Rule?

"Religious contentment is the enemy of the spiritual life always."
--A.W. Tozer, God's Pursuit of Man

"Resisting worldliness is absolutely vital but not ultimately significant. Jesus Christ is most important. We must fight worldliness because it dulls our affections for Christ and distracts our attention from Christ. Worldliness is so serious because Christ is so glorious."
--C.J. Mahaney, Worldliness

Some of that stuff is going to be written on stickies and placed around my bedroom. :) I hope you found as much encouragement from these statements as I did!

A summer report

The idea has fomented in the old melon that perhaps there's a poor soul out in the wasteland that is simply dying for a drop of solid gold news as to what this gal is doing this summer. Well, I'll tell you a thing or two, though I'm not inclined to go into detail. Besides trotting about places like Georgia and Maine as well as soaking in a few days of solitary vacation, this body has so far been sporadically dedicated to completing her summer work, more or less. And, I'm happy to announce, that as of last Friday night I have successfully completed this year's summer work duty!

My final week of summer work, however, was not just any week of summer work. It was my first experience of actually working during the Family Convention. What joys of mixed pleasure and stress! My physical work was extremely minimal, but my mental work was fairly considerable. One day I'm at my wits' end and have no idea what I'm doing, and two days later I'm feeling almost guilty for having so few responsibilities. You see, I had the privilege of leading the youth in their drama activity, and although I was greatly blessed with the assistance and moral support of the expert Aunt Sharon, the responsibility and overall ideas and direction lay on my shoulders.

The first day wasn't so bad. I had decided that I didn't want to take the "throw a huge script at you" approach but wanted to do drama with a more laid-back, "let's ad-lib, have fun, and do some REAL acting" approach. So, to prepare my actors, I decided to hone their creativity skills by playing some acting games that required lots of ad-libbing. This seemed to go well, but as the games wound to a halt I realized with horror that I still had no idea what we were going to do next. I had hoped that some inspiration would fall from the sky as they worked out their own little skits, but none came plopping down on me. Unless my thick skull was too impenetrable to see them. Not quite sure what to do next, I let them play a certain game that they had liked again and then dismissed them.

Now what?

About half a dozen ideas were swimming around in my head, but none of them seemed to click. This sounded too dumb, that sounded too complicated, etc, etc. I sat down after dinner with a couple of the older guys (Ryan and Daniel, plus David since he happened to be around anyway) and bounced my ideas off of them to see what they thought. They were relatively neutral, but pretty supportive.

"Which idea do you like best?" my cousin Ryan asked me. Surprised, I mentioned one or two of the ideas that seemed more appealing. The basic gist of what he conveyed to me next was that I was the leader and he'd be happy to do whatever I wanted them to, and he was sure that whatever they did would turn out to be funny either way. Wow, talk about loyalty . . . or something. Perhaps what I was most concerned about was coming up with something that they didn't hate acting out, and his assurances pretty much dissuaded my fears.

But that still left me without a clue.

So I decided to go to the youth meeting. I had a lot of work to do to figure out what I was doing, and I was even on breakfast the next morning, but I decided that being supportive was worth it . . . especially since I was misinformed so that I thought that my brother was having the meeting, when he wasn't (it took me about a third of the meeting to be convinced of that though). As it turned out, going to that meeting was just what I needed. In the course of the meeting a certain point was brought out: It's not enough to say that you want God. Our wants can change. We have to come to the point where we can say that we need God.

That hit home for me. And it was a grand slam. Not only could I think of ways that this applied to my life in general, but I could very specifically relate that message to the whole drama activity situation. I decided that I needed to pray more seriously about it. Of course I had prayed about it already . . . I certainly wanted God and His blessing on drama so that it would go well, but I still felt like the ideas had to come from me. That wasn't working so well, and I was faced with a certain realization: I needed God.

As I realized how desperately I actually needed God and His help, I found myself turning to Him. And as I found myself turning to Him and seeking Him, a certain phrase came to me from Acts, one that had been quoted in meeting from that morning, "What I do have I give to you." I started thinking about the drama practice from that day. I recalled the games that we had played, certain characters that had been acted well, and certain quotes that were memorable. Ruth had made a first-rate snobby opera singer. How would she do if she were a haughty queen? Timothy had made a classic picture of a dad that kept on insisting that his embarrassed son (aka Ryan) "Had no idea what he was dealing with." Alex had looked like a cool, shady character with those sunglasses on . . . and his emphatic, "Thou shalt not kill," could be very amusing if used repeatedly. What if he were a Secret Service type guy who never spoke unless to utter one of the Ten Commandments? David had made a remarkably great weepy toddler, and his "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request" could be hilarious coming from a little kid. I scribbled down a few ideas, then went to bed, staying awake quite awhile as ideas rushed in. A skit idea had been born.

So yes. The long and the short of it is that my seven-person drama team put on fairly modern version of the story of David (or "Dave," who plays the ukulele and slew the giant robots with his nerf gun) as he met Queen Saulette, fought hard side-by-side with his best friends Jonathan and Hushai, and eventually was chased away by the Queen when she tried to "sic" her pet monkey on him. The final scene was one that was used in the family devotions that week, when David had to demonstrate self-control by not killing Saul. And believe it or not, we packed in the Fruit of the Spirit (which was the theme of the week) and slow-motion battle scenes to the music of Pirates of the Caribbean (one of my favorite ideas) in there as well. I think God truly blessed it, not just because we wanted Him, but because we needed Him.

Now the Convention is over and I'm taking "a breather." What more awaits me this summer? Well, it looks like next month I'm going to be a counselor for a two week teen camp on the other side of the mountain. Now that I finally know that I was accepted I'm a little scared, but I think it will be a splendid opportunity to rely on the Holy Spirit and grow in my relationship with Him as I make new friends in totally new Christian circles.

Other than that, my options are somewhat up in the air. At this point I'm planning on starting into my summer work for next year, so that could occupy quite some time (up to four weeks even, if I do that much). Besides that, my dad and I have been exploring other educational opportunities, like taking a TESL course to prepare me for future short-term missions possibilities, and maybe taking a desk-top publishing course to assist with our church's magazine, Times of Restoration, since Kendra who is currently in charge of production is planning on going overseas for at least a year. But who knows? My summer could still hold very different things.

Outside the Camp

Latest (so far) unposted status updates:

"Kayla is fiddling around."

"Late evening conversations with siblings are the best."

And now here's a poem that Uncle Tim gave us in class. I've found much encouragement from it, and maybe you will too.

The Young Christian

I cannot give it up
The little world I know--
The innocent delights of youth,
The things I cherish so!
'Tis true, I love my Lord,
And long to do His will;
But oh, I may enjoy the world
And be a Christian still!

I love the hour of prayer,
I love the hymns of praise,
I love the blessed Word which tells
Of God's redeeming grace.
But--I am human still!
And while I dwell on earth,
God surely will not grudge the hours
I spend in harmless mirth!

These things belong to youth,
And are its natural right--
My dress, my pastimes and my friends,
The merry and the bright.
My Father's heart is kind!
He will not count it ill
That my small corner of the world
Should please and hold me still.

And yet--"outside the camp"--
'Twas there my Saviour died!
It was the world that cast Him forth
And saw Him crucified.
Can I take part with those
Who nailed Him to the tree?
And where His Name is never praised,
Is that the place for me?

Nay, world! I turn away,
Though thou seem fair and good;
That friendly outstretched hand of thine
Is stained with Jesus' blood.
If in thy lease device
I stoop to take a part,
All unaware, thine influence steals
God's presence from my heart.

I miss my Saviour's smile,
Whene'er I walk thy ways;
Thy laughter drowns the Spirit's voice,
And chokes the springs of praise.
Whene'er I turn aside
To join thee for and hour,
The face of Christ grows blurred and dim,
And prayer has lost its power!

Farewell--Henceforth my place
Is with the Lamb who died.
My Sovereign! While I have Thy love,
What can I want beside?
Thyself, blest Lord, art now
My free and loving choice,
In whom, though now I see Thee nought,
Believing, I rejoice.

Shame on me that I sought
Another joy than this,
Or dreamed a heart at rest with Thee
Could crave for earthly bliss!
These vain and worthless things,
I put them all aside:
His goodness fills my longing soul,
And I am satisfied.

Lord Jesus! Let me dwell
"Ouside the camp" with Thee!
Since Thou art there, then there alone,
Is peace and rest for me.
Thy dear reproach to bear
I'll count my highest gain,
Till Thou return, Rejected On,
To take Thy power, and reign!
--Margaret Mauro (aged 22)

"Let us go forth therefore unto Him without the camp, bearing His reproach."
Hebrews 13:13

I've found this poem helpful when I find myself distracted from true reality and am caught up in the pleasures of this world. But even more I've found certain phrases to be just what I need when I'm longing for something more that I can't even quite name:

"My Sovereign--while I have Thy love, What can I want beside?"

"His goodness fills my longing soul, And I am satisfied."

Perhaps what I'm actually longing for is right where I left it. And He's just waiting for me to realize it.

Spider Slayer

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.

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

Come want or come wealth,
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!

Jared, and other stories

"It's Craig!" resounded the cries of half a dozen little boys and one girl. They thronged about the Fairwood entrance sign as Craig and I returned from work last week, jumping up and down with excitement. They had a story that couldn't wait to be told!

 

"Guess what?" one of the lads cried, I think it might have been Ian. "Peter was in the middle of the road and a man drove up and opened his door and said, 'Get out of the road!'" He said this as if it were the funniest news in the world.

 

"Yeah, he said, 'Get out of the road!'" Peter echoed, grinning from ear to ear.

 

"Do your parents know that you're playing in the road?" Craig asked the recent five-year-old, including everyone else in his address.

 

"Uhuh," nine-year-old Michael replied. "We're playing with this tire and that tire," he added, pointing at tires that seemed to have a transparent quality to our ignorant eyes.

 

Hmm. Sound logical.

 

"Okay, well I need to go now," Craig said, after telling Stephen and Davie to stop trying to open the his car door (he locked it just to be safe). "Move back from the car, please!"

 

"Hey, why did you go backwards?" Lydia called out after us, after Craig started his car on a hill.

 

"It's called driving standard," Craig replied quietly to me since Lydia wouldn't have heard or understood anyway.

 

It wasn't long before this experience got me thinking about the exciting things that I did with my passel of friends when I was their age. My passel may not have been as large, but we certainly managed to have great times. From building a teepee with the Adams boys to playing orphanage in the sleeping attic during the Feast to constructing a "house" behind the cottage, we built memories that have long outlasted our flimsy hovels.

 

Who was in my passel of friends, you might ask? Well, mostly it was Jayna, Laura, Jared, and me, with an occasional visitor like Marie or Debbie or Cara thrown in there somewhere. Jayna was older than I by two years, and then came Laura, then me, and finally Jared who was two years younger than I. With Laura being in the middle and the most sanguine (or the most "fun" in this case), Jayna and I fought over Laura almost constantly, or so it seemed. We always wanted to be the one to sit next to Laura, or to sleep next to her during the occasional sleepover, so we finally figured out that the only way to make everybody happy was to invariably put Laura in the middle. I can still see this reflected even today by looking at the picture I drew of the three of us when I was five during Ernestine's art class. There's Laura, smack dab in the middle right where she belonged in order to make the world a better place because it would be lacking two extra grumpy girls.

 

Laura was the sparkle and the peacemaker. Things just weren't quite fun if she wasn't around, and Jayna and I often couldn't get along with each other without her. Why we had this conflict between ourselves, I couldn't say. Clyde frequently claimed that Jayna was a brat, but I think that's a little unfair because he was more than a little biased towards me, and I know that I was never an angel, although my temperament has always been pretty phlegmatic.

 

I still remember one time when Jayna stomped off and refused to talk to me. She retreated to the cement ledge right next to the sharp corner in between the Main House and the Dining Hall and perched there sulking. I imagine I must have been being annoying, but all I can remember is feeling hurt and a little afraid of her. Laura, our middleman as always, followed her and asked her what was wrong. Jayna replied in an almost cheerful voice, "I don't want to play with Kayla!" It wasn't long before I was running off to snatch my mother from staff meeting so I could have a good cry and receive a little comfort. Shortly after that, Julie, Jayna's mom and my cousin, came by and told Jayna that it was time to go home and Laura and I had to leave. "Tattletale," Jayne muttered darkly at me. "What are you talking about?" Julie asked. "Kayla didn't tell me anything." I felt like crowing. I hadn't said a thing, and Jayna had given herself away! The hurt was almost worth it for that one golden triumph.

 

To be fair, Jayna and I didn't always dislike each other. In fact, somewhere in there Jayna seemed to change drastically and I remember her telling me very sincerely that she knew she hadn't always been nice to me but she really liked me. I was reconciled with her at once from that point on, and even though I doubt we completely lacked squabbles, we remained great friends. After all, who can't help but liking someone who gives you a Belle doll?

 

I mentioned that there was a fourth person in our pack: Jared. Why haven't I said more about him? Because he is the one I want to talk the most about. Although in my young brain I qualified Cara and Laura as my best friends (chums like Klara, Meredith, and Steph didn't really enter the picture for me until I was about seven--this is the five to six era), Jared was my best buddy. For some inexplicable reason, Jared practically worshiped the ground I walked upon. Perhaps it was because I was the closest person to his age who actually chose to play with him, I couldn't say. After awhile, I grew tired of his repeated invitations to "pway," as he called it. No, my brain wanted to be fried by mindless entertainment, so Jared finally figured out that sometimes the best way to lure me down to his house was to invite me to watch a movie. Then, when the movie was part way through, he would spring his request on me hoping I would give in and play. He might have succeeded once or twice, but my corrupt little mind was too thirsty for entertainment. After all, I was allowed to watch movies at his house that were all but forbidden in my own. Movies like The Little Mermaid and Aladdin weren't encouraged in our house because of the immodest female characters in them, but my parents didn't seem to have a problem with my imbibing these films in other homes.

 

However, I did still "pway" with Jared now and then, and also enjoyed it. Sure, Jared often did follow me around until I grew so irritated I would hide from him, but most of the time I was more than happy to play. Unfortunately, my least angelic side also took some advantage of his devotion to me. One time I remember I wanted to play with a certain toy that Jared wouldn't let me play with. Infuriated, I stood up and declared that I was going home. "Noooo!" Jared whimpered, relinquishing the toy. This might have happened on several occasions for all I remember, but I specifically recall one time when I was not appeased by his pleadings for me to stay. So I stormed off down the hall to the cottage's side door and stood there before going out, fuming. Jared followed quietly, and approaching me with his brown eyes large and mournful, he said, "Kaya, I wuv you." I still remember almost every detail of his expression and his tone of voice, and every time my heart melts at the very memory of it. If I'm right, I think my heart melted the first time too, and I relented and couldn't stay angry at him anymore.

 

As you might have gathered, at three and four Jared had a few pronunciation difficulties which wasn't too surprising due to his age. Because of this, we three girls were all termed "Jaya," "Wawa," and "Kaya." After awhile our titles were advanced to "JayNA," "Wara," and "Kaywa." I remember one time his manner of speech proved quite an amusement for Cara and Ryan, who one time when they were over kept plaguing Jared by asking him how old he was. "Fwee," he responded, and they would laugh and say, "You're free?" "No, FWEE!" Jared would exclaim. I think I felt bad for him at the time, but I wasn't really sure what to do about it.

 

Jared had other likes besides friends like me. For one thing, he loved killer whales, and had quite a few of them in his toy collection. Other joys for him were his thirst for "moke" (aka "milk"), "pop" (the term makes sense now that I remember that their family has some roots in Michigan), and an intense liking for mustard sandwiches. I never could and probably never will understand this strange attraction between him and those oozing yellow treats. My complete inability to understand this is probably a result of my never ever having liked mustard one whit. But it was Jared, and I loved him despite his oddities, even when I was a little grossed out when he would pull out the milk or pop from the fridge and start drinking straight from the bottle.

 

One of my favorite memories of Jared is when he and I delivered May baskets together. I think actually that it was after his family had moved away, but he had returned to visit with his mom for a late birthday celebration for my grandmother. Anyway, I had heard of the practice of May baskets and had taken a fancy to trying out the tradition. So my mom baked a bunch of chocolate chip cookies and Craig made up some green and yellow paper baskets to put them in, and Jared and I set off on our secret mission. In order to be sneaky, we decided to cut across the ball field to gain access to the apartment buildings (I think the Passes were living there at the time). On our way, we came across several piles of deer manure. At least, since I was walking ahead I was the one who came across them, and every time I did I would turn to warn Jared. And invariably, every time I did this, Jared would stop dead in his tracks, and while still carefully clutching his load of May baskets, he would slowly tilt both his ankles outward simultaneously, going bowlegged in order to examine the undersides of his shoes. The picture was so repeatedly comical that I can hardly keep myself from smiling every time I think of it.

 

Other highlights with Jared, Jayna, and Laura included the time we built a "house" and had Sabbath meeting in it with Jayna and Jared's parents (I still remember Jared praying and thanking God that it was his birthday tomorrow). Another time was when we played on Jayna and Jared's roof. Jayna and Laura were even brave enough to stand on the dormers (I think that's what they're called) and dance as they made up some cool song about being on top of the mountain. I remember admiring them for their bravery and improvisational skills, and pretty much every other "cool" thing about them. I even remember thinking that everybody liked Jayna and Laura better that me because they were skinny and I was fat (this is almost laughable because although I might not have been quite as bony as they were at that age, I was never very close to obtaining the feature of obesity). 

 

Anyway, sometimes I wonder if our parents always knew that we were playing on a roof. At least I was always under the impression that Jim and Julie knew what we were doing and were okay with it so I don't think I was purposefully being naughty. The greatest time we had on the roof was shortly before Jayna and Jared moved. There was some sort of going away party for them that day, and we were playing on the roof when Marie and James (church friends who were my and Jared's ages, respectively) came along looking for us, so we all hid up there and made ghost sounds. After all, Marie had always believed in Santa Claus, so we figured that she was superstitious enough to believe in ghosts, right? And Marie and James even acted like they were a little scared, but when we told them later, Marie said that she had known all along what we were doing. As for whether that was really true, I guess we'll never know.

 

I've mentioned a few highlights of our times together, but there was one that sticks out far above the rest. What type of event could have embedded itself so firmly in my childish memory? Why, an unbirthday party of course! Although the idea first tendrilled out from the movie Alice in Wonderland, I first heard of its arrival at Fairwood up on the ball field during a youth convention. We were hanging around near the snack bar lines (a commonly haunted spot at that age since almost our only involvement in the ways of the ancient youth was in joining them in the snack bar line) when Jayna announced to me that THEY were having an unbirthday party at her house. Although she might not have said so in so many words, the strong implication was that I wasn't invited. Then Julie bent over and motioned Jayna to her for a brief whispering session. Immediately afterwards, Jayna, in a more subdued tone, politely asked me if I would like to come to the unbirthday party as well. Elated, I accepted.

 

What is involved in an unbirthday party, you might ask? I'm not sure, but our party was the best unbirthday party I'd ever been to. We sang the Alice in Wonderland song (Jared, not quite sure of all the words, loudly echoed the words "to you, to you, to you, to you!"), opened presents (I still have the jingly pearly white bracelet Julie gave me), and blew out candles on a bunt cake. This part was probably the trickiest because we all were supposed to blow out the candles at the same time, but whenever we counted to three Jared kept on blowing them out ahead of time, so we had to relight the candles and start all over again. Finally, the crowning event after blowing out the candles was eating the cake. And since this was an unconventional kids only (plus Julie) party, we got to do what I have never done since then--eat the cake straight off the pan with our bare hands! Ah yes, although I was a little timid at first to be so completely devoid of the normal rules of manners and cleanliness, I dug in with gusto right along side of Laura and Jared, stuffing the cake into our mouths as fast as we could so we could grab more before it was all gone. Jayna only was the one who had a fit at this part (in retrospect I can't say I blame her), so she ate her cake on a separate plate. While we were doing the cake full justice in our delightfully barbaric manner, who should walk into the room but Darla! If you're wondering who Darla is, I can't really say because I was never really sure myself. My impressions at that young age were that she was about Julie's age and friends with her, had curly hair and might have always worn lipstick, and she smoked. I knew this because the lodge room she stayed in stank to high heaven of cigarette smoke even after she left Fairwood. Well, she had always been friendly with us little kids so we all liked her in a way (especially Jayna), but I think she was more than a little taken aback to walk into the room and see us ragamuffins clawing at our food as fast as we could. Laura especially got a kick out of the slight shock registered on Darla's face, and it was she who actually pointed it out to us . . . I probably wouldn't have noticed, though I almost stopped eating when I saw her. But Laura didn't care, if anything she dug into the cake with even more zest just for the joy of showing Darla that manners didn't matter at OUR party! And that was probably the crowning event of my childhood with those three friends.

 

It is strange to me how four children can be so close at a certain era of their lives, yet choose so completely different paths that they end up branching out to different parts of the forest. Jared is turning sixteen this month and I barely know him now, as much as I would like to. However, even though I know that now we all don't agree on many issues, I sense a bond that links me to those three, even if I do nothing but notice it and even if they never notice it at all. But whatever happens, I think there will still be a special place in my heart with the names Jayna, Laura, and Jared written there.

When I grow up

I was going through a bunch of old school notebooks in the attic recently
when I came across a poem that I wrote when I was about twelve. Here it
is:

I used to wonder what I would be
When I grew up, and what I would see
Would I go into space and see the moon?
Or travel to Africa and see a baboon?
If I were to be an actress,
Famous is what I would be,
But as I thought,
I knew it was not
The thing that was meant for me.
A spy! Should I be a spy?
A spy for the FBI
But though I knew not why,
I knew I could not be a spy.

Olympist? Artist? Musician?
I could not be any of those,
I wish I could be an author,
A writer of all good prose.
Wonderful books I shall write,
And much interest I hope they will farm,
So I'll write and I'll fight until dawn comes in bright
And vict'ry is under my arm!
By the end of my writing career
Many medals will I have won,
But now that I think, an idea comes clear,
A mom would also be fun.
____________________________________________________________
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Treasure hunting

 

*Beep*beep*beep*beep*

 

        The strident voice of my alarm clock rudely interrupted my dream. Sighing, I turned it off, wishing I could go back to the world I'd just been in. What had I been dreaming? Let's go back . . . .

 

        Whoah. That was a little too far back, but I guess this part is fairly important too. I'm reading my book in bed, around eleven p.m., pretty soon before I turn out my light. What book is it, you ask? It is The Count of Monte Cristo, which I am reading at last! I haven't gotten very far into it (compared to its dramatic length), but I'm lapping it up hungrily since it's been a whole twenty-four hours since I've read it. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't read it, but this guy is just now telling the main guy about his vast treasure, hidden on an island, and half of it is all his, or all of it if the first guy dies. I finish the chapter, turn out my light, and sink into oblivion . . .

 

        Fast-forward past the dream in which I'm acting in some Frog Prince play. I wasn't the frog or the princess, but I was sitting on some fake lily pad with my cousin Aaron, and that's all I can remember . . .

 

        We're going treasure hunting! We (I felt instinctively that this was a collective group, perhaps the Bibleschool and some of my family, although the only people I remember actually seeing are my dad, Craig, and maybe Josh briefly) are exploring a cave--a clean, spacious, sunny cave . . . the walls almost are a bluish-white. Somewhere in here, we know from being told by our friend from my book, is the treasure, hidden behind three doors. We come to an area that we almost think is water; but no, it's fine azure powder spread out over a good-sized area, and we have to be careful not to breathe it in as we walk over it. I find a tunnel, and after crawling through the narrow, though well-lit space, I discover what we've been looking for: three wooden doors in the wall. Behind one door I can hear loud knocking, on another I see red writing--does it say "I bequeath this treasure to you" ? Before we can investigate behind these doors, however, we must make sure there is no one else around. Craig goes off to search for tourists in the area.

 

        Sadly, there are tourists, and we realize that this is a public national park cave with staff attendants bobbing about here and there. Not exactly a nice private place to open up treasure. As I think about it, I realize that I found the tunnel and the special doors with very little difficulty, and if people come in here all the time, why haven't they found it? Then it dawns on me that everyone HAD found the tunnel and the "secret" doors, but everyone had just assumed that it was just a publicity stunt or featured attraction, resulting in the fact that no one had ever bothered to see what was behind the doors. Even so, we must wait for everybody to leave, so we look around.

 

        Near the tunnel, we settle down in an extremely large, cavernous room. In this room is a large crystal blue lake, and in the middle of the lake we can see a place where a huge stalagmite and a stalactite meet. The edges of this sunny lake are very shallow and very cold. Little boats take tourists out to the center of the lake where there is a deeper, swimming-pool-sized area where there are hot springs and it's delightful to swim. We watch people splash about and come up to rest on the edges where it's shallower, but since it's so cold they soon dive back in.

 

        In the meantime, we don't want the cave staff to know that we're here, so I dart about and spy on them. A bunch of them are talking together--no, they're conversing in song, just like in a musical! (No, they did not sing "Can I Have Napkin Please")

 

        Eventually, the tourists leave and the cave staff are closing up, but we have to be extra sneaky so they don't see us and kick us out.

 

        Finally, everyone is gone. Now it is just Daddy, Craig, and yours truly. We enter the tunnel. We are equipped with various gifts from our friend so that we can open each of the doors: one door requires a door handle in our possession, another a key, and the third a piece of paper or map that is supposed to help us open it. We go to the door that we were instructed to open first; it's the preliminary door, so to speak. It swings open . . . . what could the treasure be? As I wonder, breathless, my eyes light on the biggest Nikon digital SLR camera I've ever seen. I'm serious! This thing was like the granddaddy of digital cameras; it was about a foot wide and the lens was about two feet long! (you can tell that I've been thinking about SLR cameras way too much lately) As soon as we take this sight in, it starts to roll away on a conveyor belt. At first I wonder if it is a signal that we should follow it, but the hole it's going toward is too small, and somehow I'm not too worried that we're going to lose it. It's being conducted to a safe place for us.

 

        Next thing we know, we see this machine (behind the same door) that starts to spit out a multicolored assortment of socks and underwear! As the stuff cranks out, we're supposed to grab what we want before the machine sucks it back into itself. The funny thing is that as this happened, we didn't seen anything odd about this "solemn" occurrence. It wasn't as if it was the real treasure, but the machine was equipping us with a good supply of things that we might need as we stayed for a long time to investigate the rest of the treasure.

 

        I marveled, wondering what would come next. What could be behind the other two doors? We knew this was just the preliminary door and that the other doors would probably have the real treasure. What could it be?

 

*Beep*beep*beep*beep*

 

I guess we'll never find out.