Giving it a go...

Ok, so I'm not sure how this will work out, by I'm going to try and post part of a story every day or two. Charles Dickens began many of his most famous works as part of a series for a magazine, so I'm going to try and rip off his technique here. To begin, I am posting the beginning paragraphs of two stories. I'll decide which one to pursue either based on your comments or my "inspiration." Please feel free to leave polite comments, suggestions, and constructive critiques--I'll take all the help I can get! Without further adieu, here goes... (Oh, by the by, I know I'm not even in the same stratosphere of talent as C.D., but a girl can dream!).

Story One:
"The sun’s last rays illuminated the height of the mature pines that lined either side of the road. It was almost eerie driving toward the growing darkness, not knowing what may lie behind the thick mass of trees. Of course, the cold silence between us did not help ease the gnawing discomfort, which was rapidly developing into dread. The only betrayal of the silence emanated from a flock of nesting birds—they had no idea what traitors they were at that brief moment. I stole a sideways glance at my companion, who kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road in front of him. The whole wretched situation was my fault, and we both knew it. I tried to apologize, tried to explain why I had reacted in such a way, but to no avail. He never spoke an angry word to me, yet somehow his quiet understanding made the pain of our circumstances infinitely more agonizing."

Story Two:
"Isolation seemed to be the order of the day. A quiet hillside boasting a lush bed of green grass and a protective canopy of fresh leaves beckoned to the weary young traveler. For miles he had glimpsed not a single soul, nor heard the echoes of life. A stark sun was suspended high in the heavens, indicating the noon hour. Feeling the burden of his journey and the relentless rays of the sun’s warmth, the young man nearly leapt at the oasis of the towering trees. He dropped his heavy knapsack irreverently and crashed down beside it. Almost without willing it, his eyes closed and his breathing became deeper, but slumber did not follow. His mind was unstill, unable to divorce his current location from the grave circumstances of his destination; yet his physical being was able to find momentary respite in the shade of the woods. For now, at least, he was safe…he was protected…he was alone."

Let me know which one you would like to read more of!

In Christ Alone...

There is a beautiful hymn that has the refrain, "In Christ Alone." This week, as I’ve been preparing my heart and spirit to honor Easter and the joyous occasion of Jesus’ resurrection from death, I’ve tried to really focus my attention on Christ alone. It is for no other reason that we celebrate this day--no other reason has the power to break the chains of sin and to offer freedom that is incomprehensible to the human mind. The love that Christ poured out on that day, and continues to pour into our lives, is the only place we can turn to and find rest. I urge those of you who have not made a commitment to Christ to do so now--to understand how "wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ" (Ephesians 3:18).


"In Christ Alone" by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend

"In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev’ry sin on Him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow’r of Christ in me;
From life’s first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow’r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow’r of Christ I’ll stand."

Things That Are Uncool...

Things That Are Uncool:

1) A boss who for two months has promised that he is going to give you a promotion--and never does. This despite the fact that EVERYDAY he and the other managers compliment your work, and tell you how fantastic you are with customers.

2) Returning to work after a long weekend to hear that the promotion you had been promised was given to SOMEONE ELSE! Excuse me, WHAT????????????????

3) Having a Master's degree that is languishing in the purgatory of my closet, yet still being treated as though I have the intellect of an acorn.

4) Being unable to find work that reflects my true abilities, talents, and skill (not counting co-youth pastor job).

5) Feeling under-appreciated, unchallenged, strung along, confused, and generally frustrated that the people with authority misuse their power.

To balance out the negative...

Things That Are Cool:

1) Jesus Christ, and the enormous sacrifice He made so that we can have eternal life with Him!

2) My family for being supportive, and for being on my side when no one else is.

3) My nephews, who always make my day brighter! (My nieces absolutely do this too, I just don't get to see them as often as I would like.)

4) My job as co-youth pastor--that totally rocks!

5) Johnny Cash--that man said it all.

What I Want...

Since about April of 2007 there has been one thing I've really wanted to do. Unfortunately, my financial situation and other responsibilities preclude this from actually occurring. But for the sake of dreaming the impossible, here goes...

Imagine a large, rustic yacht peacefully floating in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Italy. The sun's light is bright, warm, and so inviting. No one is on the vessel with you, save for the ghosts of your favorite authors--and they only through the myraid books surrounding you. What ghosts might these be, you ask? Well Charles Dickens to be sure, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Agatha Christie, Watchman Nee, Brother Lawrence, and for good measure Stephen King. I'm sure many have been left off of this list, but rest assured, no one would be forgotten on the actual journey. The only supplies you have on board with you are a bit of parchment and a quill (we're going old school, here). If you can't write under these circumstances, you are no writer!

In contrast, my current location is a large Victorian house in rural Indiana. The only body of water around belongs to a paper mill, and I have to drive 30 minutes to find a library. Ah...the life.

Further Random Musings

Further Random Musings
Go ahead and put this blog in the same category as my last; basically, I don't know what they are...just thoughts.

Lord Do You Hear Me:

From the depths of despair, I cry unto You,
From the shadows, from the pain I call.

Lord Do You Hear Me?
Lord Do You Hear Me?

I need Your mercy for this life of sin,
I need Your help with this quandary I am in.

Lord will You bear it?
Lord will You bear it?

From the heavens, I hear Your voice,
From the Truth, from the Light You call.

Child I am near you,
Child I am near you!


Evident:

Be evident here, oh Lord.
Be evident here, my God.
Be here in this mind and this spirit.
Be here in this life and this walk.


Rescue:

There is more to life, than just a baited hook.
All it takes from You, is just one simple look.
Come and rescue me now, from this darkest well.
Lead me not temptation, lead me not to dwell,
Among the poorest sinners, but pierce me as a dart.
Cross the dangerous oceans that lie within my heart.

Be within my being, be as if one whole.
Come into my heart, invade my dusty soul.
Save me from myself, don't let me laugh and mock,
Else I fall again, and go straight to the stocks.
I don't understand You, Your heart so full of Grace.
How I long to see You, and look upon Your Face.

Not really sure...

Advance warning: I'm not really sure what these are. They are not really poetry, and they are certainly not prose--so just take them for whatever they may be. As I've stated before, I don't fancy myself to have any knack for poetic construction. I suppose more than anything they are words that, at one point, captured what was on my heart.


My Love:

I took you in my arms and molded you.
Fashioned every feature,
Breathed my breath of life in you.
Now that you're on the earth,
You look at my creation,
And say it's not good enough.

But, my love, my beloved,
You are beautiful.



Desperate:

I'm desperate for you, Jesus,
Please send your healing rain.
I need your arms of comfort,
Won't you please take my pain?

Send your waves of mercy,
For I am in distress.
Come and take me fully,
Grant me to my rest.

To you I lift my arms, Lord,
Won't you reach down for me?
Enwrap me in your love now,
Shine your face on me.

Now I see your truth, King,
I can see it all clear.
You hold me in your hands tight,
Never more shall I fear.

I will live in peace, God,
Knowing that you're there.
You died upon that tree on Calvary,
But now You have the victory!



Stand:

Everybody puts you down...down.
They don't want to hear your sound.
You feel like you're outside crying,
You feel like you're inside dying.

But I know a God, who will hold your hand.
Forever and always He will stand.

You've already lost your faith, love.
And you don't even know your name.
You feel like the world's so empty,
You feel like you're already gone.

But I know a God, who will hold your hand.
Forever and always He will stand.

Well, hello there...

There appears to be a rather large block located in the forefront of my brain..., otherwise it would not be so difficult to put pen to paper (or as the case may be, fingers to the keyboard). I've decided that I need to take a day and just sit in the library amongst the myriad volumes written by far more talented writers than I can ever aspire to be. There's something about wallowing in the knowledge that I will never live up to the abilities of say, Charles Dickens, that I find helpful. It grounds me... frees me from wishing that the very next words I string together will culminate in a profound piece of literature.

I don't mean to sound cynical or self-abasing--just practical. When I allow myself to run away into a "wishful thinking" kind of world, I do myself a great disservice. My perception leans too heavily into an internal locus of control, and I neglect the fact that there are outside influences upon my abilities, talents, and successes. The stripped down version is that I blame myself for not being everything I wish I could be.

On the other hand, I think writers must occasionally embrace a fictionalized rendering of our world. Imagine the creativity that would be lost if our sole focus was the world in front of our eyes. Every great once in a while, I like to think that with divine inspiration I could produce an outstanding piece of fiction.