I wear a torn place on my sleeve || Peter

Behold, I will do something new,
  Now it will spring forth;
  Will you not be aware of it?
  I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
  Rivers in the desert.

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...

I wear a torn place on my sleeve.
It isn't as simple as that.

Peter


Never have I hated roosters more than right now.

I know it's not right for me to blame it. But I choose to blame everything. Everything and everyone. And very much myself.

I think, Simon. Really. You couldn't get your act together by the third time?

I reply, No, I'm an idiot. What do you expect?

As I stare at the nails hammered into the gate, the gate to a garden which I would like to forget about, I gloomily recall other idiotic moments. There are too many of them. More since I met the Teacher.

The time I got all excited about walking on water and nearly drowned because I was faithless. Not my best moment. Me, faithless in front of the whole group. No, not my proudest moment in the least.

So many times I shouted out some stupid answer because it was just burning at my throat to be said and then I'd get this look from him or from them that was clearly saying, Simon. Stick to fishing. You don't know anything.

Bitterly, with darkness laughing against my cheeks, I realize it's true.

Three times!

There is a stony darkness in me that that is burning my belly. I think of the Teacher, who is really the only person who ever believed I could do something right. The darkness is clawing its way up my jaw. I feel my face tighten and burn. I refuse to let myself believe that he is dead.

But I know he is.

I have a nail in my hands and I'm running it against the ground, absently writing. I think it's my name.

I brush my hand over it. I am Simon now, because Peter would have held fast.

I am not a rock. I'm as changeable as the wind and no amount of excitement can change that.

Lying is so easy. You just let a little half-truth slip out, grin in bitter memory, and carry on.

His name, paired with lies bitter as soap, is burned on my tongue. I'll never be able to look him in the face again.

And I  might not be able to, I realize and then my heart seizes up again.

I don't love him, I tell myself. It's not like if Andrew had been carted off or something. Then I wouldn't deny it - he's my brother, of course not - but I would know what this tightness in my throat was called.

I'm too ashamed to look into the sky and pray, God forgive me, I am an idiot.

So I bow my chin against my chest and weep. The nails falls from my fingers and I am overcome by what I've done.

Why do you believe in me, Lord?

Because you believe in me.

My hands are dirty.

I want to make it up to him somehow.

And then I realize it. He is new. He is doing a new thing.

Oh take me back to the start

I could not hear

My ears have forgotten

I miss

I miss

The dawn comes softly and I put the nail in the garden gate, which I remember well. He is greater than me I fail not, and all is well.

It's worth it.
To be continued

Nobody's Eye

I was born like a Cyclops
My eye, overlarge and weepy,
focuses and rolls
and if I can't remember where
to look too like a snake
I when I forget change from
Polyphemus to Medusa
and my one eye will burn to stone
And my hair will poison
you with its fragrance
Because I'm Nobody and Nobody
remembers where the siren's song leads
Maybe the man who built the dove's boat
He was so full of faith and salt
So by faith and salt and rainbows and a broken mirror
My one eye opens
And the serpents vomit up their applesauce
And I see a great laughing
Skyful star
And all of a sudden
I'm very meek weak hopeful
That my eye will never open again
And my heart will be all more like a
Nobody

The Urchin

The travelling man came across an urchin in the street. She was dirty and her fingernails were clenched and bloodied against her breast. One hand was pressed to the pavement and the other was pressed against her breast. Hollow-eyed, she glanced up at the man and waved with one hand still against her. Her shawl falls away from her dirty eyes and she stares. He waves back and travels on. He is a travelling man, it's what he does. She's just a little urchin girl, and as he whisps on, an empty chewing-gum wrapper falls from his pocket. She picks it up and calls in a softly lisping voice, "Thank you, sir. I'll hold this piece of kindness in my pocket and one day when I have something to give, I'll be kind to you too." He doesn't turn around, but hopes that she'll grow up to be not such a dirty girl as she is now.

Decades later, when the moon is king and the sun is dark, the travelling man returns and as he walks, he sees the urchin girl - thinner, colder, and brittle as a snowflake. She is not an urchin anymore, but a seller of secrets, a lie-seller. 

"Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said softly in the street, her hand clenched against herself. 

The white-lipped man with the pocketwatch stops. "Are you a seller of good things?"

"I sell the things I know, sir. But we will barter in things we know: I will hold whatever secret you put into me and then I will tell you something happy. You may buy the things I know."

So he whispered a bitter secret into her ear, and she took her hand off of her breast, and pulled, to the travelling man's surprise, her hand away holding her heart, beating and hollow as a drinking gourd. She put the pale secret into the hollow vase of her heart, solemnly. Then she pressed it back into her chest. She shuddered and grew a little paler. "Thank you. I'll hold it unless you want it back." She said it sort of like a question.

"No. I do not miss it." 

"Then let me tell you a secret, in exchange for what you sold me." She looked up into the heavens, and whispered something in his ear. His face lifted and he smiled. His lips took some color and he put his pocketwatch away. Then he walked away.

She smiled thinly and sat back down. Whatever he said had made her sad, and whatever she had said had made him happy.  

The travelling man was curious. And so he walked to her. "Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said. 

His eyes shot from her dark hollow eyes to her hand clenched against her. "What do you sell? Lies or the truth?"

Her eyes flickered. "I don't know the difference. I sell the things in my heart. I have many things that my heart knows. And I sell the ones that make you happy. I'd make you happy, sir, if you'd exchange me something in your heart."

"Why?"

"My heart falls out a lot, and it has a hollow in it. It's shaped like a secret. So I thought I should do it that way. That part I know is true."

He stretched out his hand and dropped a beam of light, purer than any secret into her hands.

"I can't keep this, sir." she said, her lips quivering. "I've never had anything this beautiful. I'm not that kind of girl, sir."

"Keep it." he said softly. Curious, he said," Now, tell me one of the things you sell people."

After a moment's hesitation, she rose to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. His eyes intuitively brightened. "But that is true." he said happily. "The things you say are true."

She looked relieved, and tired. "I'm learning now what true is, sir. But that's not what I say, sir. I'm saying things that are happy."

He looked her in the eye. "Now tell me one of the things still in your heart. One of the sad ones."

She shook her head. "No, they are mine to hold. I'm the one with the hole in my heart, and I'm the only one who has to do this. I wouldn't wish this on you."

"But they're lies." he said. 

She turned her head in a somewhat shamed way and walked.

The travelling man saw her again the next day, sitting on the ground. The first thing he noticed was that her hand was out in front of her face, outstretched, and not clenched against her.

In her hand, her heart was bleeding all over, and the smile he was accustomed to seeing on the lie-seller's face was gone. "It wouldn't go back in today." She said blankly. "I couldn't get it back once I put a secret in it." She winced.

"Does it hurt?"

She winced. "I can't tell if this is truth or a lie. And I know I'll die if I get it wrong." She glanced back to her heart in her hands.

"I will show you the truth." Said the travelling man. And he put his hand on her heart and held it for her as she coughed. Secrets and lies and sadness and blood poured out of it and she coughed and cried. "No, no!" she said. "I promised I would hold those."

But they continued to pour until one last thing was stuck in there as she gasped.

It was a chewing gum wrapper.

"I made a promise once," she said to the travelling man, all out of breath. "to be kind to you."

Then she crushed her heart into her hands and said, "I can not hurt you any more. Neither can I lie to anyone again." 

And the urchin exhaled.

Dear Bathsheba [[remorse and resurrection]]

...Oh, beloved Bathsheba. Do not leave me here, alone with the moon. I love you, my dear, oh, I love you...

God, how I miss you. 

I'm very alone here, Abba. When I saw her bathing on the roof, I loved her. She loved me, too, God, I know she did. We were beautiful together, admit it. She was sad and she was lonely, and I was scared and I was misunderstood. I was so afraid to lose her.  You've taken me away so many times from the ones I love. I was afraid you would do it again, God, that once again, you'd cast me away from the ones I love. I loved them, God. I promise I did. 

I think that was why I snatched her up the way I did, I just didn't want to lose her, the way I lost all the others I loved most. I know, I know, it was wrong of me to be so afraid.

I wasn't trying to hurt her, the pretty, weeping girl that night. I wasn't trying to hurt you either, I swear it. Oh, how I didn't want to give her up. I miss her, my beloved Bathsheba. It wasn't her fault, of course, the dark way I loved her, the way my love turned to murder.

Oh, God, I can't even think about that. My heart will break all over again and I think I had just salvaged enough of it to say I'm sorry. I am. I'm so so sorry.

How you must despise me. My family does. My whole kingdom does. I despise myself, most of all my bitter-stained heart. 

I'm alone with the moon again. I'm a mass of contradictions, you know - the king after God's heart and the one who killed for a bitter love.

Give me my harp, my dear, I need to sing a short song. Or maybe it will be a long one.

You're my beloved now, the real one, you who never left me alone with the outside darkness (saying I'm sorry and then trying to forget over and over). You've kept my hands gathered, and for the last time, taken hyssop and ground it into my heart, into my eyes, into my hands.

I'm aflame now, and I'm weeping and there is resurrection. My heart died when we parted, you and I, and I buried it when I said goodbye to her, but now, create in me a clean heart, a new one, O God, and resurrect - renew - a right spirit within me. Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love.

Because, I'm sorry isn't going to work when you're alone with the moon. Because, a broken and a contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Siren

My child, now let us look at a marvel...
What a peculiar little chimaera
See her long hair as wild and dark as moss
Beloved eyes one green and one purple
She is so very small, but with
A large voice singing songs
Oh, my child, cover your ears and
stuff beeswax into them
For the little white lady
with harp-voice wings
With a green serpent wound down her waist
She's quite something
Look at her, wet smiling and air weeping
A warning, that's what we call her
Because we can not be both
Air and water
Much less an earth and a spirit
There can be no candle in the underworld
No worms in love with doves
Salt in a fresh spring
Do not marvel at me, my child
But as I change
You may love me
[that's a question]

Summer and Blue

“Hello.” said the boy with the blue eyes. It was raining and his brown hair ran down his face with the rainwater.

“Hi.” said the girl with the summer smile. Her hair was not running anywhere. She held a polka dot umbrella over her head and stood in its spotlight.

The boy with the blue eyes smiled, but it was a sad, February smile. “We don’t know each other, do we?” The smile turned to frost, and the summer girl watched, perplexed and teary-eyed as he turned into an ice ghost before her.

The summer girl had seen a ghost before. That’s how she knew the boy with the blue eyes was one.

She lived in an industrial-strength box in the middle of a petulant city. The sky was a perplexing shade of brown and the people there were all little silent-movie black-and-white executives. They wore combed hair, conservative ties and carried briefcases with locks on them. The reason they had locks on the their briefcases was that they carried weeks of July and August, packaged in dandelion fluff and wishes, in them.

Summer is very heavy.

Every evening at the very same time, in the very same way, the executives would sit down at their mouldering kitchen tables with a glass of strong autumn in one hand and their briefcase in the other and they would open them and smell their summer weeks and look at the yellow sun in a briefcase where it doesn’t need to shine except to keep awake.

The girl with the summer smile had always been told she was born at that time of day and when she had made her first sound – a self-conscious hiccup – she had accidentally swallowed a sunbeam and that it was always trying to run away when she smiled.

In reality, the reason she smiled like summer is that when she had first got her briefcase full of July and August, she had looked at the sun so often she had begun to turn into summer itself. When the others found out, they put her in a very industrial little box house and told her about the ritual of seeing summer only once a night.

So she listened and met the ghost boy in the wallpaper.

He was translucent with tiny teeth and a mass of hair. “Hello.” he said as he rose from the oily industrial wallpaper.

She was still too young to run away from either ghosts or strange boys.

She was not afraid of him.

So they became friends until he left her to go to the capacious attic where he turned into a pile of bones with a heartbeat.

She cried.

When she could come to her senses and abandon the drudgery of walking under a brown sky with a briefcase, she climbed the cobwebs to the attic, and, stifling the Niagara Falls inside her lungs, she found the bones and embraced them for she embraced the ghost boy’s memory. She tripped on a wooden puppet on the way down.

She grew to despise both attics and puppets.

Standing here in the rain looking at the blue-eyed boy made of ice, she was reminded unpleasantly of the ghost boy’s heap of bones in the attic.

She lowered her eyebrows. “I defy you, Death.” she said to the February clouds. “I know you mean harm only and I see where caring got me last time.”

She turned from the boy with blue eyes and the sound of her shoes was like rain. And rain was raining. And the boy was making noises silently, and his eyes were blue, and his cheeks were running blue and his chin was raining blue and he was crying and there was rain. He was unmoved still – she knew because she heard no footsteps behind her – but he was blue with ice and blue with rain and blue with crying.

She looked down at the crackling sidewalk and observed her feet, made of smoke and coffee stains. She observed her transparent hands and her tears fell through her – his tears too. All of a sudden, things were plain and sunflowers grew – she was a ghost. Even less than a mouldering heap of bones piled up without a soul in an attic, she was a ghost.

Both. No wonder she had not run from the wallpaper boy. Ghosts. How could she remember the wallpaper boy, if she and the blue-eyed boy are so of smoke and ice. There is no marriage of fire and water. There is no love in ghosts.

And the blue-eyed boy’s tears met hers and they turned to blood and the blood ran off them. She turned around as he turns toward her and their blood vapor hands meet.

Blood turns to water and they fall into stars. They are alive and summer meets blue and we call it Love.

drowning me

Have you seen the little rainstorm?

I put it in a jar

Swirlingly, it whispers

It is full of seaweed, the raw winds of oceanic

Mindsets (when minds are full of pufferfishwhich eat their neighbors

and refuse to see the waves above their heads asanything but

symmetry and empty seashells)

Oh how the pickled skybirds do make me swing

My hands in deathly frustration

Why is the sky so big?

Why am I a jellyfish?

Did you not promise me I would be an angelic

Jellyfish are purposeless and hideous

I am consumed by the pufferfish struggles

I am distraught by the fact

Of the ocean drowning me

drowning me

drowning me

I. am. so. confused. by. grace.

drowning me

drowning me

Lift up your heads, O ye

drowning me

drowning me

Who shall ascend the hill

drowning me

drowning me

Who is the king of glory

drowning me

drowning me

Waves sound like

drowning me

grace

The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glad [for KK]

My cousin KK asked me to post this poem I wrote for her (it had to be about flowers... hmm!)

The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glade

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

My bean seeds on the Marvel stove

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Curled around yourself, we wade

Through spider-blind paths we wove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

You move, to where the azaelia laid

Dead - dead - you killed this grove -

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Not a lily, I too was swayed

(I wish I could find my seedling trove)

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

I miss my petals, I was waylaid

You betrayed me and I drowned you in the cove;

[The lilies bloom beyond the glade]

I'm sorry that my kindness grayed

You and I, to my earth I dove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed:

The lilies bloom beyond the glade.

(I'm not sure that I have a point to this poem, but here it is, for you, KK!)

Empty Seashells [thoughts of the Awakening Program]

What's this?

Why are your tears on my cheeks?

Did I steal your sorrow

When we waded into the silver sea

Remember the day that

I combed the seashell's hair

And you laughed in harmony

With the sea urchins

I was still sandy when I

Went up to the heavenly concert

You told me you hated me

But your cries turned to

Paper cranes as they flew up

To the concert to tell me of

Your imaginary friend

Why do you hate me, beloved?

I'm just sandy rose petals

Not worth your trouble

Please, beloved, speak to me

Please, beloved, don't hide

I found our old sandcrabs, seashells

Tears-stained urchins and memory

My seashells are empty

Oh no

Of course I've loved you

But I was just a sandy rose

How could I know I as just an

Imaginary friend

Oh, beloved, don't hide from me

Oh, beloved, don't say I don't

I don't love you

[He whispers in your ear.

Have your forgotten the sound

Of oceans?]

Have you forgotten the cold embrace?

Oh, don't cry, here in

Here we find clean flowers

To dance at. I never miss

- I found forever and it sang -

Steal back the empty seashells

Fear not, little sea urchin

For now I know you.

Have you forgotten how to laugh

[do you remember anything but your sighs?]

Come beloved, and I will love

I will always love

I have always loved

[You]

PREP... Frugality Meets Allergy and Things Blow Up

I'm finding that having a quick post once a day or every few days will make sure that I write often enough to keep everybody posted back home, but it doesn't take that long. This might even work.

So, one of my main roles as a PREP girl is to organize, plan and work kitchen. I'm currently having a lot of jobs that involve organizing the kitchen (this means I write shopping lists and help decide on meals, mostly.)

To give you a little perspective on this, we're cooking for roughly 35 people six meals a day: breakfast, AM snack, lunch, PM snack, dinner, and dessert. We have salad at lunch and dinner, fruit at breakfast and every snack, and cookies whenever the team wants them (currently, we haven't made any though... this is sad). The oven has so much personality, including cooking things at a unique rate (depending on the food, it might be fast or slow) and turning on spontaneously. (Not quite spontaneously, actually. It's just really sensitive.) We can use the oven after 8 pm and before 8 am, but not between. We also have two people with lactose/soy allergies. Whew! It's a lot to keep in mind, but it's not all that hard to manage. It is so ridiculously fun. I'm learning so much about managing and budgeting and how to cook for different tastes and needs.

I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining, because I'm not. This has been such a blast, and such a joy! I would do this forever and ever.

However, right now I've hit an obstacle. Does anybody out there know how to make dairy-free scones? The scones are getting made in a few days and I'm trying to figure out how Tessa and Marisa are going to eat... [goes off to check Mrs. V's blog....]

What a blast! I love PREP! I love cooking! I love learning how to work out the managing and the allergies and the health and the gorgeousness of these awesome people!

Google rocks,

Catey

Expectation.

(Warning: the thoughts contained in this post are typically irrationally and abstract. And it's been worked on for weeks. And all that.)

Okay... so I'm pathetic about posting. I hope to become better about this. And since my last "creative" poem about... well, whatever that poem is about, a lot has happened.

I am a high school graduate. This is a weird thought for me. I'm graduated early (at 16, as opposed to 17 or 18, I suppose). I think this is not so much because I'm graduated, but because of expectation, which is something I've been thinking about a lot.

When a girl graduates high school, there are a few different groups of people who all have different expectations. One camp expects me to go to a university on a nice scholarship (for? I'm still not entirely sure I understand all of the scholarships that are out there.) get my degree and have a nice, illustrious career until I'm twenty-five or thirty, and then think about settling down. Another group says I should get married. The end. Now. (At sixteen? Perhaps they mean court now, and get married on my eighteenth birthday.) Others combine those ideas, throwing in a few twists like traveling, working on political campaigns (me?), picking up sewing or cake decorating, nannying, and other sundry hobbies.

They all ask me, "What are you going to do now?" as if the graduation of high school means some sort of drastic switch where I abandon everything I used to do and start doing something else. I really just want to hold steady on the course, to finish well what I began and then see what seasons God transitions me to.

But people don't expect this.

What is the value of expectation? As a naturally compliant person, I tend to follow peoples' expectations on me, which makes it rather frustrating when some expectations are in direct opposition to each other. I suppose this is why God is teaching me and guiding me, and not all of these people. It's made me careful to evaluate the expectations I have on myself and on others.

I think the most dangerous expectations I have are on myself - I must stay up till 1 tonight to finish my American Literature curriculum, I must pass four tests per month, I must finish YSG by next January, I must learn, I must be, I must be better. Discouraging, yes? I think all of us struggle with expectation, whether ours or others'. It can easily take our eyes off of the God who is to be trusted and obeyed, and onto what we think we ought to do or be.

I am learning a lot of what it means to love, and to have faith. Faith is not an easy thing for me - I am a creature of compassion and joy, not of faith! But I think I am learning.

So what am I going to do? I am learning still. I think that I will finish college this year, continue teaching, maybe travel a little more. Then, next year, I think I will see about traveling and teaching together. But this is God's business.

I expect God's glory, and that is all.

Forever [Beautiful Belief]

This is my Flood the Five event poem. If you haven't noticed the pattern, I apparently have at least one poem per event that just sort of summarizes my thoughts. I'll have a more official Flood post up later.

I stand beside you, full
Unquestioning, I follow
So strong art thou
So full of passion, of belief
I feel your heartbeat
I love, I am, unquestioning

Together, now forever, unquestioning
You and I to understand, for full
You think, you feel, his heartbeat
Who shall you and I follow?
Your face is devoid of belief
For you and I art forever; I, thou

I am with you, art within thou
You are quiet. I'm unquestioning
I'm noisy in your frail belief
This joy is your strength in full
Maybe I will lead and you will follow
In this strength, your fragile heartbeat

Love! My hand, my heartbeat
Open, you are precious, art thou
Forever, I will quiet, I will follow
I shall help you unquestioning
For you, my heart is full
For you, I forsake my blind belief

So much hope, so much belief
I see thy joy - how I find a heartbeat
May I stand with you for full
You are, we are together: I, thou
To you, I will forever give me, unquestioning
We, together, will lead and follow

So many, so much, I follow
I am given toward belief
I shall wear white (I am unquestioning)
Can we share one heartbeat
One soul? How fully to desire thou
I will be filled to the full

Joy! So full, happy to follow
I and though, our heartbeat
To be unquestioning, here my beautiful belief

So... like it? This is a really abstract one. You'll have to let me know what you think it's about. Then I'll write about the actual conference experience. I'll tell you, I'm having HUGE extrovert withdrawal right now. I very much miss everyone.
Oh! And check out the pages at the top of the site! Are those cool or what?

Mascara (a.k.a My Masters Diary)

Day 0: Travel to NC
Lesson learned: We love airplanes!
We departed from Colorado Springs (my mom, me, Mrs. S, Madison, Levi and Maci) and took the long flight to Chicago O'Hare airport. Madison is my debate and duo partner, and her AOR for this particular Masters tournament was debate... well, she printed debate stuff at the last minute, so we spent the first flight getting the public forum stuff in order :)
We then went from the (icy cold) O'Hare airport to Charlotte. We arrived at night, in the pouring rain ("It's so romantic!" says Maci as she twirls around in it) and rented a van ("Please pick a red one!" says Madison. We got a red one.) and head to Hotel #1.
Wow! Tiring first day. Looking forward to conference tomorrow!

Day 1: Registration and drive to Hamlet
Lesson learned: Don't blink on the drive or you'll miss the town.
We made the 2 1/2 hour drive to Hamlet and checked in at our hotel. We then went to the town of Hamlet and registered at the church. Happiness! I got to see my favorite INTP and good friend Rebecca, as well as connect up with the interns and some of my other friends from camp and conference. Among them: Westin! A friend from Colorado. After our opening simulation (ZOMBIES!!! AAAAH!!! RUN AWAY!!!!) we watched the encore performance of Lead the Escape, hung out with friends, and then went home.

Day 2: Student Leadership, Ladies Luncheon and Model UN
Lesson Learned: Josh better have a good reason...
This day was jam-packed! I got to hang out with people again, which was enough for me to be very happy, but we also had a number of simulations and things. The Ladies Luncheon (with its awesome slumber party theme) was hosted by Kelsea and Robin and - triumph! - Mrs. Moon in her PAJAMAS! That was something I thought I'd never see! This followed our first class of the day (I attended the Student Leadership track) and after lunch, we continued to the very first Model UN simulation. I was representing Mexico with a single partner (I was on the Security Council). My partner was very different from me - we didn't agree on a single issue of our country's policy! That was a little difficult to get used to. But, I'm sure Josh has a good reason...

Day 3: Public Forum, part one and Mystery Party
Lesson Learned: Mascara is really bat poop. Don't ask.
I should start by saying that I've never done any kind of debate before, and my partner is a seasoned four-year-er. This having been said, I practiced my debate a LOT. So... I forgot something important. My mascara. Ouch. I was wearing full makeup... but no mascara. My self-confidence plummeted. Apparently, when I told my partner I wouldn't debate without mascara, she believed me, because she bugged an alum intern for some mascara. AH! I felt remade. I debated four rounds and I didn't die in any of them!
We then changed into our mystery costumes for the mystery dinner. Madison, Maci and I went as clue characters (Ms. Peacock, Ms. Scarlet, and Ms. White, respectively). Our parents were Agents 1 and 2 and Levi went as the Scarlet Pimpernel (which I know nothing about). My favorite costumes of the evening: several interns dressed as Clue characters (Mrs. White, Ms. Peacock, Miss Scarlet, Colonel Mustard, Mr. Green, Mr. Body [teehee]). Westin was Zorro. He had this cute little mustache. Humorous story:
Madison: Is that eyeliner?
Westin: No. It's the thing that comes with the spiny brush.
Madison: Mascara?
Westin: Ouch! That thing hurts. It must be made of metal.
Madison: No... who's mascara was it?
Westin: A friend's.
Levi: I bet it was Catey's.
Madison and Catey laugh hysterically as Westin gets really confused.

Day 4: Tournament, take two and concert
Lesson learned: OUCH
To start the day off, Eric ran me over. Hard. He kicked my shins by accident so I fell over and it hurt. Great. Soon after, I was removed from the Phase 1 (easier, non-advancing competition) to judge it. That was really fun! Sadly, Josh was really concerned about whether Madison and I would be okay with it. I felt bad for him - he was harried. I felt so bad for him that I didn't begrudge him the fact that he also ran me over and smashed me into a wall. Oops. Poor guy. As I looked back, I realized I had been run over a grand total of six times. I then kept track of collisions, because it was awesome.
Anyway, I performed my Thematic Religious Reading, and was seriously worried about my time (I ran two and six seconds over, which can be grounds for disqualification). We then attended a concert and performance of The Great Divorce. I cried and cried and cried. I need to read that book.

Day 5: Model UN
Lesson learned: Never trust China
Today, we were able to actually able to attend whatever classes we wanted. In addition to that, we broke into our separate councils in Model UN. I was on the Security Council (which is the best). I wrote this fantastic resolution, and received three more than necessary signatories - including China, Russia, France, etc. My resolution was then vetoed by China. His reasoning?
China: "The world is a twisted place."
No kidding.
Today, we also heard postings. Three of my friends' teams qualified to National-level competition in debate, and Colorado swept up the only Informative slot (must be the mascara, Westin.) My friend Madison and I both took honors and slots in Thematic Religious Reading (guess those two- and six- second overtimes were okay). My friend Rebecca won the Oratorical Contest. Happiness.

Day 6: Model UN and closing ceremonies
Lesson learned: We are all broken pots.
After the closing session of Model United Nations (where our chapter performed very well: Laura taking third country, Levi taking 2nd country, Madison taking 1st speaker General Assembly and 1st country, and I taking 1st speaker Security Council), and my performance of my Thematic for the assembly, we attended classes until the closing ceremonies and formal banquet. All of us dressed up in formal gowns and tuxes, and it was a truly beautiful evening. It was tainted bittersweet though - this would be the last time I'd see many of these people for a long time, perhaps for several months or even years. After Mrs. Moon's address, we lit candles, and sang in the yellow pools of light underneath them. I stood by my dear friend, and sooner than I knew it, I was absolutely overcome by the compassion and beauty of God. I stood in the darkness, my face glowing in the candlelight and cried, Why me, God? I am no good. My words are broken. My love is fake. Why me? And back to me: You serve a good God. Everyone speaks in broken tones - just show mercy. No one loves like me - I will heal you. I chose you because I love you.
Wow. That changed my thinking. I then went around crying for the compassion of God, and saying goodbye. I know that I love these people and that they must care about me, because none of them were turned off by the fact that I had been sobbing into my hands. It was a rubbing of souls. I greatly miss everyone, but I am content to know that Masters was not the last time I'll see any of them. I look forward to seeing them again soon and I pray in the mean time.
And, ending on a more lighthearted note, my mascara did indeed cause more problems (it dripped down my face and I looked like the matchmaker from MuLan. Baaad.) Oh well. Next time I'll just ask Westin to borrow his.

I have been changed by Masters, so don't be surprised if any number of my posts quote people from Masters, or tell stories of Masters as examples. Currently, I have a piece of poetry floating around my brain from The Great Divorce. Eventually.

How Very

What sort of normal person is expected to write an academic essay in 500 words or less on US History II? Just thought I'd make note of that...

Okay, for real, here's a poem I wrote and decided I'd post, since I've been posting disgracefully infrequently.

How very curious, my dear,
How very
I wonder what the trees said that morning
I thought I heard the stars sing aloud
Maybe for joy
Maybe

How very lovely, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the angels sing so quietly
I thought I could hear them
Maybe far away, softly
Maybe

How very thoughtful, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the Christchild comes
I thought I saw him, though he is gone
Maybe here, maybe there
Maybe

How very silent, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the songs are yet here
I thought this darkly silence was unbroken
Maybe there is light even here
Maybe

How very precious, my dear,
How very
I wonder why such a good thing has come
I thought all we were is darkness, fire and sand
Maybe there is more worth to us than that
Maybe

How very irresistible, my dear,
How very
I wonder why I am so drawn to such a small thing
I thought I could run from something so finite
Maybe there is infinity in this child, love
Maybe

Well, back to the 500-words-or-less paper...

Lead the Escape

I watched the evening program for the CFC conference a few days ago. My mind is still caught up in the many short moments of it, my heart still frantically attached to the words I heard. I watched the speakers, heard the message, and thought, I will never reach that place.

And, at the same time, it's the only place I want to be.

Someone once told me, Why not aim for the moon, because if we fail, won't we hit a star?

I want to hit a star in my communication. I want to be one who, whether or not I lead the perfect escape, manages to somehow touch someone in the process.

And though I may miss the moon, at least I will hit the stars.

I see that it is impossible to be all that I need to be. But, somehow, it's all right, because while I may never reach that place, it is the only place I want to go. And when I only aim for places I know I can go, how will I ever know if I could have gone to a place that I actually wanted to?

If I attempt the impossible, maybe I'll be surprised.

I hope that a few days or a hundred years down this road, I will look up and see that I am at that place I thought I'd never attain. I know that I won't see the road along the way, because where's the faith and adventure in that? When one leaps for the stars, all that they can see is the darkness all around them.

But whether I look up and my feet are on the moon, or I fall onto a star, I know that I will have found the place I want to be. And who dares tell me it is impossible?

Call You Through the Noise

I am the sound of rushing water
I am the sound of foggy skies
I am the wind that knows your heart
Pain which makes one curse and die

I am the feeling, cold sensation
That creeps your spine in cold, dark fright
Finding grace among the nations
Sings your heart to sleep at night

I am the dove that lands like fire
I am the water's holy blood
I am the helper and provider
I am the one who stops the flood

I am the one you call your shepherd
You are the sheep who hear my voice
I am Eternal Holy Father
And I will call you through the noise.

No, I'm Not Dead

Sorry I didn't update in such an outrageously long time (and it truly is outrageous). School. Kills. My. Blog.

Here's a devotional I wrote for RTF:

I got back from a Christian speech and leadership camp in Tennessee just a few short weeks ago. I was exhilarated – and at the same time, discouraged. Looking ahead to the humdrum ways of real, regular high school living sounded remarkably unappealing. After a time of really focusing on God, it didn’t seem fitting that I should shove myself back into the routine of my regular year.

I’ve probably already made it very clear that I’m not all that into change. I’ve had the same haircut for five years, keep a calendar to help me manage my routine, and don’t like to mix up my daily schedule much. So I came up with a brilliant solution to my dilemma: I’d simply replicate my summer and try to stay in the same mental state as during my break.

A great idea, until I realized that it was an impossible goal. Ecclesiastes 3:1 states that there is a season for everything. By pushing my past season into my present season, I was only setting myself up for disappointment.

Here are some tips and tricks to transitioning into the real world that I found helpful:

Accept that change is going to happen. That was my biggest problem – denying that God had something else in mind for this season in my life. When I became excited about the new steps I would be taking, whether those be school-related, family-related, or church-related, I realized that I didn’t have to hold on to the things that were now past me.

Be excited - God’s doing something new! If you like to hold onto the familiar because it worked or you enjoyed it, be encouraged that God pushes you into new and fantastic things. If you’re determined to go along with whatever God has in mind for this new season in your life, you’re sure to be better prepared to do what he calls you to do.

Combine both new and old. If you’re not the kind of person who stays in a rut for long, be sure that you don’t toss out the great experiences you had this summer. Balance looking forward to the new, and remembering and learning from the old.

I hope you all have a great start to your school year!

Experiences

My thoughts about Flood the Five conference, which I taught with two of my favorite speakers and an intern from the organization I speak with (in no particular order... kind of like the conference itself)...

- Nylons are evil. I had to wear them all three days of the conference, and I ran them the very first day, and then had to cleverly hide the runs the rest of the week.

- My gift is in the UNDER TWELVE YEARS OLD category. Which is a good thing, because, I was the only one who preferred the Beginning Public Speaking kids.
(Story:
I was running a group of 12-15 twelve & up kids and they all HATED ME. Two of them ran as soon as they realized I was their instructor. Another two spent the entire time trying to tell me that they were older and therefore way cooler than me. I had one defense, though... my twelve-year-old sister Joss with her high-heeled shoe.)

-It is so much fun to do something out of your comfort zone with a bunch of people who are also pushed out of their comfort zones. Seriously. Cowardice loves company, but courage requires it. It was a blast to work with all but one person who had never done anything like this before.

-Giggling is for late at night. Quick story here:
A
friend and I were really, really, really tired after the second day of the conference. We hadn't seen our other friend all day or much in the past three weeks and we'd been running things together all day. We were a disaster waiting to happen. We decided we missed our other friend. We decided we should find something to tease him about.... but we couldn't think of anything. So we wandered around the sanctuary talking about how much we'd missed our friend and how we needed coffee (or tea, in my case.) As we wandered, we noticed that our friend was trying to fold down a table. And struggling. A lot. He was getting very frustrated with it, getting to the point where he was holding it upside down and kicking it.

(Editor's comment: Just to clarify, this friend is absolutely great. He is a genius. Truly. It's scary to talk to him because he's too smart for his own good. He WON Impromptu speaking for our forensics league for the whole country, and placed in Extemp and debate. REALLY smart. Just table-challenged.)

My friend and I glance at each other, and that momentary glance illuminated our thoughts all too clearly. We were thinking:

(insert echoey thought sounds)

He is a genius, but he can't fold tables.

And in a moment of sheer insanity and utter exhaustion, we simultaneously began to shriek. Hysterically. Couldn't stop laughing.

AND IT WASN'T EVEN FUNNY. We were just tired.

This lasted until the table folded and we saw that our friend was glaring at us viciously, which, despite his usually calm and gentlemanly demeanor, was a sure sign that we had three seconds to shut up or he would hit us both. Hard.

We stopped.

-Some kids are hilarious! One of the speech games we did was a group interpretation - where a group of kids act out a story together. My group did Jack and the Beanstalk. But we had really, really random things happen, like:
We double-cast Jack and Jill. Jack was played by Jack and Jack Be Nimble. Jill had her very own stunt double. It was amazing.
Our narrator was Rappin' Red Riding Hood.

Go figure.

- I have the sweetest friends ever.

-One of the cutest things I've ever seen is to watch two generally private people completely brag their little sisters. It was so sweet.

-Stretching yourself is a good thing. It was so neat to be trained by Mrs. Moon, who founded the organization sponsoring the conference, but the real learning and the real experiences took place when I was actually out there, figuring out what works with shy kids or how to focus 13-year-olds. It was in growing past the fact that I either used to or still do have (I can't decide which ) an irrational fear of teenagers. It was in the experience.

Loved it! Hopefully I'll have a brain and then I can write something deep and profound...

Maybe.

I Believe in You

I believe in you.

No doubt you've heard those words as often as I have. People find this belief very important. They assume it will accomplish something.

Often, it is paired with a similar set of words:

Believe in yourself.

Once again, people find this significant and expect it to make a difference.

I've always found both sets of words somewhat annoying. The believe in yourself mantra is overrated. I could believe in myself all I want that I will become a famous scientist and cure HIV, but all the believing in the world can't accomplish that.

By the same token, I could believe that some acquaintances that I'll leave unnamed could become opera singers. But all the believing I can do won't make that happen.

I found both phrases not only annoying but also vain. As if my belief could make such a truly marked difference. It's not my belief that matters. Like I said, I can believe, and believe, but that doesn't mean anything.

Ideas without action are dead ideas. Ideas should inspire people to do something about the way the world is now. They should make them think of society in a different way, and force them to leave it better than they found it.

We see this in the early church. The disciples took the ideas of Christ and carried them out in life. They combined the idealism of the doctrines they believed with the pragmatic end of spreading and living them in their everyday lives. We see that those who believe in Christ will be doers, not simply hearers of his word, (James 1:22) but we also see how good works without the faith behind them are also dead (Galatians 3:11)

I suppose that's where my issue with both quotes arose from. Believing is of the world of ideas, but, we've seen that ideas cannot be independent of the action they inspire (if they can, they're not worth being thought up) Action is required in belief, belief in yourself or your belief in others.

Looking at those quotes in this light, I recently came by the realization that they are not without their value. Viewed through the lens of God's word, both can actually be quiet beneficial.

The Believe in Yourself one is simply a call to have faith in what can't be seen. It's a call to take a risk and step outside of what's familiar and comfortable. If you go out of your safe little haven with the idea that you will absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, fail, you probably will. But if you are willing to believe there might be hope, that you could potentially make a difference, better things are yet to come. God doesn't really care how amazing you are. You are. He is. You are His workmanship. That makes you good enough. Be an optimist. Be realistic, but still believe that God can do mighty things through you.

The I Believe in You quote is my favorite. It encompasses my spiritual gift (showing mercy - which essentially means liking people even if I don't actually like them) perfectly. It's important to view people through the light of eternity. People don't usually believe me when I say it, but I don't see people as they are, but rather, as they could be, and in a very rosy light, too. People aren't just who they are now. They're not their limitations. People are souls traveling toward destinations, souls who are so much beyond what they truly are. I like the way C.S. Lewis puts it:

"It is a serious thing," says Lewis, "to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal."

That radicalized my thinking about people. I am never talking to just a mere mortal. The most annoying, most ditzy, most conniving, most hurtful, most divisive, most unintelligent slobs I know could be the people I see as an angel of light. And my cutting words or vicious glances will be recounted one day.

That's why believing in someone is so significant. It makes all the difference in someone's life to know that someone had the faith to know there were better things for them out there.

It's impacted me. And my faith in others has made an impact, both on them and me.

Here's my challenge for you: View yourself and others in the light of eternity. You'll see change.

Sestina

She sits with her back to the bitter wind
The quiet cries of the pale in her hand
The little bird’s trusting muffled song
From within the shifting of his wings
Makes silent rufflings in the shadows
In the bird’s hushed-gentle throat.

The girl looks down and clears her throat.
As her mother follows the wayward wind
Into the paths of darkness, painful shadows
With her destiny in the palm of her hand
And, soaring on a devil’s wings
Distorts the girl’s pure playful song.

The little girl wishes she could sing a song
Like the bird’s, but the dust pains her throat
Instead, she holds the bird’s steady wings
Keeping him from flying into the wind
Stubborn, she holds bird and mother in hand,
She will not let them cross the shadows.

For a moment, she heard the silent shadows
Speak, and their words were the words of a song
That treasure held in conniving hand
Is a knife pushed down magician’s throat
But treasure thrown to the wiles of the wind
Is treasure that will grow bold white wings.

And if the treasure has strong white wings
Then it will call out creatures of the shadows
Who praise the glory of the wind
Whose ears will hail no sudden song
That rises from a sainted throat
But hopeful whisperings of moon at hand

The girl raises her freckled hand
And, arbitrarily, bird tests his wings
A joyful song in the girl’s one throat
As her mother glides in hidden shadows
And both join in the bird’s free song
They see now beauty in the free wind.

The girl holds the shadows like clay in her hand
And the gifted wings fly like the song
In her brave throat and float above the forgetful wind.

I wrote this poem for a contest, but I didn't like it in context enough to submit it as my entry. I wrote a better one that will be my entry. This one is just a pretty thought. I hope you enjoy it. Echoes in ink, C.