F3-Cycle 45

With Love

~This week’s prompt was to write a story about a protagonist’s determination to not be defeated, and what happens to them as a result~

                The trail behind our house that led up to our big barn was one I traveled often as a child. I used to sit for hours with my dad up in his wood workshop. The way he could sculpt and mold his materials into items of such beauty amazed me. The hum of his tools, or the hum of his voice, was peaceful when intermixed with the laughter of me and my two brothers, the only other of my 5 siblings that cared to accompany dad. The bright sunlight would stream through the cracked windows, illuminating the sparkling dust particles that floated through the air. They were always fascinating to me-how they could just hover above me and then fall so serenely to the floor.  

None of us had any idea then the detriment our summers in the woodshop would cause. I found out soon after I had my baby girl. A hefty scientific name was given to my poor respiratory condition, which had progressed through out my high school years, and then, once I had to begin living for someone other than myself, I had to fight for that freedom.

She came 8 weeks early, weighing barely more than two pounds, and being just over 13 inches long. The experience of having her pulled from my numb body was surreal, it felt so odd. My circumstances weren’t normal, and it was a wonder either of us survived at all. She was so tiny, her daddy could hold her in the palm of his hand, and she remained in the hospital for months after her birth.

When the full weight of my problems descended, I remember being greedy for my daughter’s life. She had made it home, and now I was dying. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to live at least until she was 18. The thought, though, was ludicrous. The doctor said if I made it three years, I would be lucky. Numbers and milestones I would never see swirled around my mind. Until she entered high school, when she became a teenager…13 is a good age. No, I thought, even that is hoping for too much. I finally settled on 10 years old. I wanted the bulk of her childhood.

It was that decision, the choice to live for my daughter long enough to make it count, that propelled me on through the worst and weakest times. Several instances I thought I wouldn’t make it. The exhaustion, even while doing nothing but talking, was overpowering. My disease pushed me to my limit, but my daughter raised that bar of just how much I could handle.

Even though I had fight, times were not easy. Much testing and traveling and trials and interviews resulted in my being put on the lung transplant waiting list. Once entered, I was expected to have to be on oxygen for a year before I had a donor. I spent that year being thankful for being able to watch my baby grow. The procedure came and went with minor complications. Luckily, my body took to the one lung they were able to fit in my chest. Eventually, with the aid of much medicine, many people, and countless oxygen tanks, I was able to make it through recovery.

The help didn’t cease for the rest of my life. My daughter was my love. She truly made me happy and made my reasonably short life complete. I remember the night the last ambulance came. I hadn’t been feeling well, and I knew when I was about to go down. Like always, as requested, the ambulance arrived sans sirens, and my husband ushered the men down the hall to where I was sitting on my bedside. They were efficient and wanted no delays, but I made them stop long enough to ask. She was looking on from the side of the doorway, knowing not to come any further. I couldn’t have that, not that time.

“Come here, sweetheart.” I drew her to me for what I knew might be the last. “How about a smile for Mommy?” I asked, desperate to wipe that equally desperate look off her face.

 I knew she was torn, thinking this was simply protocol, that I would be back in a couple days like normal, but also knowing what’s possible. She delivered a pretty smile, though, and seconds later I was on the stretcher watching the ceiling as I was rushed away. The alcoves really needed dusting.

”You have to take care of her.” I dumbly told my husband over and over again. She was all I could think of.

Now, I wake up from my dreams to stare at the pristinely clean white ceiling of the hospital room. At some point my husband starts talking about how our little girl is turning ten today. She won’t be opening the presents I got her yet, though. Her grandparents are with her, so I know she’s in good hands. I don’t want her seeing me like this. I want her memories of me to be free of what I am now. Someone holds my hand as I fall asleep. I wake sporadically with fits of coughing, but only long enough to absorb a few minutes of pain until the darkness takes over again.

I made it, though. I lasted ten years longer than anyone thought I would. I overcame my disease and I pushed forward for my daughter. I am a survivor. I have been strong, and I hope some of that rubs off on her. She, and my love for her, enabled me to accomplish the impossible. I have not been conscious for at least a few days, but I know I lasted long enough. I am grateful, and my last breath is filled with triumphant thoughts, hope, and love for the one who taught me how to survive.

“If God were not entirely fair, how would he be qualified to judge the world?”

Romans 3:6

“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.”

Romans 8:28

F3 - Cycle 42 - I'm Late

Letting  Go and Letting God

Amazed by what she lost, Hannah Sharpe stares at the girl sitting across from her. Maya, oblivious to her acquaintance’s anguish, chats casually about anything that comes to mind. As she works to sufficiently contribute to the conversation, Hannah’s caught between enjoying the moment and dreading the future because she knows the moment won’t last.

                “So, what’s your major now that you’re transferring?” Maya asks.

                “English.” Hannah responds. “I always kind of had it in the back of my mind but wasn’t confident enough to declare it.” She smiles. “Do you know what you want to do?”

                “Nope.” Maya sighs. “No idea.”

                “It’ll come to you.”

                “I sure hope so.”

                Hannah wishes she knew what to say next, but then Maya simply moves on to another subject and keeps going. After a while, the room starts to fill up with others arriving at the party, and Maya soon gets lost in the throngs of people, her many friends surrounding her. Hannah, sort of out of her element and bummed out, searches the crowd for some of her own friends, if she can even call them that, and checks her phone incessantly. Eventually, they show up, and Hannah tries to have a good time, but whenever she sees Maya, her heart sinks a little.

                Hannah has never had a really close friend and she knows that Maya could have been it. Angry at herself, she tells her friends she’s heading out and makes her way, slowly, to the door. Weaving through the masses proved harder than she thought it would be. Halfway there, Maya spots her and looks at her expectantly, probably wondering where she is going.

                “I’m taking off.” Hannah yells over the music. “It was cool seeing you again!”     

                “Oh, you too, totally!” Maya yells back.

                Hannah wants nothing more than to just blurt out everything, all of her regrets, how much she wishes she could just go back in time and make things right, but the blaring music and common sense quickly dissuade her.

                “Good luck with school!” She says, making to walk away, and then inwardly kicking herself for doing so.

                “Thanks! You, too!” Maya laughs and starts dancing again. “We should meet up if we’re ever both in town again.”

                “Yeah, that would be cool.” Hannah hides any trace of excitement.

                “Alright, then, I’ll see you around!”

                “See you around!” Hannah turns and heads for the door, knowing that they will never both be in town again at the same time. Going to different colleges a country apart usually keeps people at a pretty good distance.

                Hannah she knew she was too late, that Maya was no longer the young girl who wanted Hannah’s friendship more than anything else, all those years ago. Why did it have to take so long for it to hit her that she was making such a massive mistake? The regret that plagued her now, it was futile. She couldn’t do anything about it now. She was too late. The opportunity was long gone, any potential for a friendship she ruined for herself when she denied Maya access into her life. What had her problem been?

                Hannah drove home slowly, unable to recall why she never took the last step between her and Maya. It could have been because she was shy, that Maya was sort of intimidating, but that didn’t seem right. Thinking the whole way home, Hannah gave up. She could think of no justifiable reason as to why she now had to live with this huge regret. There must have just been a wall. Thinking back, Hannah had been sort of numb to everything going on around her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be friends with Maya, it was that she didn’t particularly care to be friends…with anybody. Oh, and now, oh how she wants to go back and scream at herself to wake up. She could have had it all.

Hannah wonders where she had been all these years. She always knew she should do something about Maya, try again, but the desire was never like this. She wishes it had been when there was still a chance, because then she would have done everything possible to make up for her failure. She almost would have rather never come to this realization than come to it too late.

                Getting out of her car and quietly making her way into her parent’s house and up into her bedroom, Hannah wishes the summer were over so she could go back to school and not think about her mistakes. Lying in bed, she cries, and prays. She prays a lot, desperate, not sure why she is feeling this way all of the sudden.

                She prays to get rid of the regret, giving her burdens to God, and she prays for a friend like the one she lost for herself. She wants God’s will for her life, and eventually she starts to realize that maybe her regret over Maya is a part of it. Through her suffering, Hannah learned to lean on God, and she figured that if God could manifest this odd love in her for a friend she never had, then He could certainly help her love her actual family better than she already does. She decided to take it all as a lesson, and trusted that God has a plan for her that surpasses anything she could ever imagine, and that maybe, just maybe, Maya had already done her part.

Report Card

She held the paper in her hands,

It was pristine, and smooth, and white,

On it was a tiny symbol,

A letter that brought the night

She glanced at it at first,

With unexpected shock

When the blow sank in and her heart slowed down

The earth began to rock

 

Nothing would be the same now,

She was stripped of her only pride

Crippled by her loss,

She shoved her Savior aside.

 

Letting the demons come to her,

Failure imprinted in her brain

She let them tell her she was nothing,

Her heart filled with disdain

Compared to all the others,

She let them contemplate her value,

But He stepped in before the wrong

And told her, “I still love you.”

The desperation that was crippling her,

The loneliness and anger, too

She told Him all about it,
He said “I have a plan for you.”

 

She wondered how it was fair

When others act the way they do

How can she be pleasing amidst this mess?

And He said, “I will judge, not you.”

 

She didn’t know if she could do it,

She thought she still might fail,

She didn’t want to ruin anymore,

He said, “Child, I always prevail.”

She held the paper in her hands,

The words now wrinkled, wet, and faded,

Jesus pulled her into His arms,

And told her how she will be graded.

 

You know I am your savior,

I’ve forgiven you of it all,

So, now, forgive those others,

And before God, you’ll stand tall.

Work hard and do your best,

But I’ll catch you if you fall

Give Me your burdens and regrets

And answer to My call

 

Love regardless of any circumstance,

And pray passionately at every thought

Express your feelings with great care,

And remember what you’re taught:

The grade is not what pleases Him,

It’s what lies in your heart,

Trust Him to deliver and define you

And He’ll surely declare you smart.

F3 - Cycle 38 - Madness

~This week's prompt was to write a story involving madness in any form~

Because I Love You

Janie Fisher hurries to the door, only a little disappointed when it is, of course, her thirty-year old hare-brained brother, looking somewhat rugged in his hoodie and worn jeans. Who else would be visiting her? How can anyone else get to know her if she never leaves her house?

                “Janie!” He opens his arms wide, one holding a bag of takeout, “I’ve been trying to get over here for a couple of days, but it’s been so hard, you know how it is, it’s just…” His sentence peters off.

                Janie knows, and she doesn’t blame him. “It’s okay, Danny.” It is her own fault that her only acquaintance is a wild grown-up kid.

                “Oh, I love you, Janie, so understanding.” He comes forward and gives her a one armed hug. His bristly face brushes against hers, and he smells like car oil, just like always. She prays that this time the cars he is working on are legal.

                He walks past her into the house, tracking dirt, and she closes the door behind him, being sure to touch it equally with both hands.

                “Is that Chinese?” She asks hopefully as she follows Danny into the kitchen.

                “Yes it is sister of mine, only the best for my favorite person in the world.” He smiles goofily at her.

                She pours drinks for them both, five ice cubes in each drink, never six, and they sit down at her kitchen counter.

                “So, how’s work?” Janie asks, watching his face carefully.

                He only hesitates for a second. “It’s going good! You’ll be happy to know that everything I am doing is…” he searches for the appropriate word “prudent.” He chuckles.

                “It better be.”

                “Oh it is! It’s been going really well, I’ve been making quite a name for myself. You should come down to the shop, check it out.”

                She just looks at him, and he shrugs his shoulders.

                “I’m just sayin, is all, Sis. Your opinion means the most to me in this world, and I think it’s time you got out of the house, it’s cruel to deprive the world of such a beautiful face.”

                “What’s up with all the compliments?”

                “What do you mean? You’re my sister, you’re the only person I got in this world, and I simply think you’re wasting your life holed up in this place. I want more for you.”

                “Danny, come on.” He is really a horrible liar.

                “Look.” He sets his fork down and rubs his eyes. “Janie, the truth is…I did a bad deal a while back…some guys, at the shop, they covered it up, but you know how it is, they want retribution, paid off, and quite frankly I can’t afford it.”

                “Danny!” She is furious. “I cannot believe you! What was the deal? How much do they want? I…I don’t even know what to say!”

                “Say you’ll help me!” He is suddenly the desperate little kid she once knew as a child, her little brother, needing her to dig him out of his hole. Only now, she doesn’t know if she can jump out of hers to get to his.

                “How much money do you need? And why do you keep working for those guys when they treat you like this?”

                “I told you, I’ll get a new job as soon as I find one. Look, Janie, it was my last deal, I promise, I’ve been on the up-and-up for a while now, but I’ve got this thing from the past, coming back to haunt me.”

                “When did they tell you about this payment?”

                Danny looked at the floor. “About…I don’t know, it was like a couple weeks ago, maybe a month or two.”           

                Janie gasps. This is just like him.

                “I thought I had it all under control, I thought I could handle it, and I didn’t want to tell you if I didn’t have to because I knew you would worry.”

                “Worry!” She scoffs. ”When do they want it by?”

                “Friday morning.” He whispers.

                “Danny! It’s Wednesday!” She stands up, anger filling her.

                “I know! I know! At least I gave you enough time to go to the bank…”

                “Go to the bank? Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll write you a check, how much do they want?”

                “Whatever you have stored up from your online writing job won’t be enough. I was wondering if you’d be willing to dip into your portion of the trust Mom and Dad left us.”

                She sucks in her breath and speaks quietly. “You have some nerve, little brother!” She's livid, knowing he already spent his on some crap investment. “How much do you owe?”

                “Thirty grand.”

                She sits down, stunned, not even bothering with her precautionary spin before collapsing onto the stool. “Well, I have it, and I give up. I’ll call the bank as soon as it opens tomorrow, but I want details.”

                “You know that won’t work, sis, they don’t do those kinds of things over the phone. They need you in person.”

                She grows sick at the thought. “I’ll call and allow you to withdraw as much as you need, it will be fine.”

                “Don’t be stupid, you’re smarter than this. You remember the negotiations. You need to be there in person. Please, Janie.” He looks ready to cry.

                “What will they do to you if you don’t get the money in time?”

                “Janie, I’m the only person who ever comes around here…you wouldn’t want me to no longer be able to, would you?”

                “Danny! I hate you! How could you do this to yourself? To me?”

                “I’m sorry. Look, Janie, I just need to pay them and then it’s over; I’ll be done with them forever.”

                “Danny…I...I can’t, you know I can’t.” She grips the counter, her knuckles turning white. She rolls her head in five even circles. “I can’t.”

                “You did for twenty six years! Please, Janie, I’m your brother!” He yells.

                She thinks for a moment, praying. “Okay.” Her voice shakes with the fierce beating of her heart.

                The next morning, Danny comes over to wait while Janie gets ready, unready, and ready again for almost six hours. After she vomits for the third time, he decides she needs some more prodding.

                “The bank’s gonna close, sis.” He says, gently. “We only have tonight, I need it by tomorrow. I’m right here, I love you, you can do this.”

                “I know. I’m ready.” She walks out for the umpteenth time, and approaches the front door. “I’m gonna do it. For you.”    

                She grabs the knob equally with both hands, and walks out the door for the first time in three years, physically fighting Danny all the way to his car. Once on the road, Danny wonders when he is going to tell her that, no, they don’t need to go to the bank, no, he hasn’t worked at that shop for over a year, and no, he has never done an illegal job in his entire career. She is smart, though, she will probably figure it out.

                “There, it’s not so bad right, Sis?” He looks at her.

                She grips his arm tightly and says nothing.

                “No,” Danny says, “No, it’s not so bad."

F3-Cycle 37-Be Happy!

~Flash Fiction Friday prompt this week was to write a story that embodied happiness with a positive ending in less than 1000 words~

I Am If You Are

               The wait is excruciating. All he wants is to hear the double chime of the doorbell. Such promise the doorbell holds. It possesses the element of surprise like nothing else, in both that a young boy such as he never knows when it may sing its glorious song, or what the melody brings.

                Sometimes an unexpected visitor waits behind the door, anticipating the best way to keep the door from being shut in their face when they attempt to sell something to his Mom, or other times it’s a relative who “has got to be disgusted” by their messy house or who “should have called.” The best times, though, are when one of his friends comes to the door with their Mom or Dad. Then he and his friend can go play until the grown-ups are done talking, which usually takes a long time.

                Every once in a while, the doorbell won’t announce a person’s presence, but that of a package, like it will today. Today he is waiting for his package. His Mom told him it would come today, but his excitement started turning into wariness when the mail came without a brown bundle. He knows now that he must be waiting for the big brown truck, which is the best out of them all.

 The red, white, and blue truck, on the other hand, is usually no good. The most exciting thing it ever brings is birthday cards. No, usually the envelopes that come from that truck make Mom and Dad sigh and go off to talk about something important. The blue, orange, and white truck isn’t much to bother about either. Sometimes it will bring pictures to his Mom, or boring papers that his parents pour over for days at a time, but other than that, it doesn’t offer much.

It’s the brown truck that’s worth the most. The brown truck means that something good is in store. When the brown truck comes, the man always leaves a fun present. That’s the one that brings clothes to his Mom, books to his sister, and occasionally something special for him. Today is one of the days where the big brown truck will come lumbering down the street slowly, to drop off a big tan box just for him. Or so his Mom says. He’s been waiting so long, he’s not even sure anymore.

“Be good,” She says, “only good boys get packages.”

He’s been trying real hard to behave, but it’s so hard. All he wants is his package, and he knows that if he had it, he’d be able to be good, but now, every minute just gets harder. He doesn’t want to play quietly in his bedroom or watch another TV show. All he wants is his package.

Thinking, he goes and sits in the living room, staring at the front door, willing it to ring. When it doesn’t, his sister asks him to draw a picture, and his Mom wants to snuggle. This is crazy, he thinks. All this fuss when he needs to be waiting for his package. Nothing else is good enough right now.

Defeated, he wanders around the house with no real purpose. Maybe, he thinks, if he does something extra special, his package will hurry up. He runs to his room, inspired, and makes his bed perfectly. He stretches his quilt smooth, using his whole body to spread it out to eliminate the wrinkles his Mom doesn’t like. Excited, he runs back out to his Mom as soon as he finishes.

“Mommy, I made my bed, will my package come now?”

“I don’t know honey, you can go check.”

Yes! He thought. He’s been so good; it simply has to be here now. He goes out the front door and looks all around the front porch, scours the driveway, and even takes another look in the mailbox just to be sure the package man didn’t get confused. No package. He sighs, and deflated, walks back inside.

“No,” he tells his Mom. “It’s not here yet.”

Figuring he better try again, he picks up all of his toys from the living room with the help of his sister. He does a lot of the supervising while she does the majority of the manual labor. He has important waiting to do, anyway. Once they are done, he asks if his package has come.

“Not yet.” She said. “We’ll hear it when it does.”

He goes back into his bedroom. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. He can’t wait to tear open his package and see what is inside. He smiles just thinking about the sheer joy of it. His sister will surely be sad she doesn’t have a package of her own. She will just have to play with his toy with him.

             The door chimes when he’s in the middle of organizing his stuffed puppies. The butterflies in his stomach go insane as he dashes out to the front door. That’s when he sees the man walking back to the big brown truck. He loves that truck, and he watches as it pulls away, feeling his longing for it drifting away and being replaced with the new desire to open the perfect square package it left behind.

Finally, he thinks, the wait is over. He carries his package inside, chattering away to his Mom and his sister, excited beyond belief. Happiness engulfs him as his Mom brings out the scissors and begins to cut open the tape. Taking over, he rips open the rest and opens the flaps of the box. A huge grin lights up his face when he sees what is inside.

Finally, his Mom and sister think, the wait is over. The look on his face fills them with joy and his excitement over his new toy that he has been begging for endlessly for the past month leaves them elated. They couldn’t be happier. They love that big brown truck.

F3-Cycle 36-In a Blender

~The prompt for this week, my first time, was to write a story with two buddies, Dean and Jerry, where Dean is the "straight suave guy" and Jerry is the "bungling buddy," in less than 1000 words. Hope you like it!~

Partners in Crime

They both heard it at the exact same time. The pitter patter of those tiny little feet dancing along the edge of the fence was undeniable. It was time for the hunt. While Dean trotted out of the patio rather gracefully, Jerry sprinted behind him, ears flying and legs akimbo. He tripped in the doorway and thrashed on his belly for a second, sliding up next to Dean, panting hard.

 “Alright, Jerry, you just sit here and watch, and I’ll show you how it’s done.” Dean stopped them a few yards away from the target. “It takes an immense amount of talent and skill to be successful. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t learn to control yourself.” Dean asserted his dominance over Jerry for a second longer before getting down to business.

Dean lowered his belly to the ground, slithering slowly along the dead grass, his paws barely making a sound.

“Yeah! Go get him, Dean! You show him who is boss!” Jerry’s barking was incessant.

“Jerry!” Dean growled. “You’re ruining everything. You’ll scare him away prematurely if you don’t shut up, and then what will our people think?”

“Sorry, Dean, you’re right.” Jerry laid down, his tail now still, and his face lain on top of his paws. He just got so excited sometimes, he couldn’t help it.

The squirrel was now watching them both closely, acorn in hand, as still as a statue. Carefully, Dean resumed his process, inching closer and closer, his eyes glued on the prize. He knew he would win it; he was the master of this game. Jerry was learning from the best.

Jerry perked up once Dean was all the way up against the fence, sitting up tall and openly staring down the squirrel. Every time the creature moved, Dean moved with it, and the bigger dog on the other side of the fence made Dean the more attractive opponent. The squirrel was trapped.

“Jerry!” Dean called softly. “Come here and spot me on the right, I don’t want him getting away.” Jerry sauntered over happily, his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

“I’m here, captain!”

“Here’s the plan: I want you to jump on the fence and scare him this way, hopefully he’ll fall, and then I’ll catch him.”

“You better be fast! Remember the last one that got away because you were too--" Dean cut him off with a sharp growl and put his snout on top of Jerry’s, daring him to say more. “Sorry, boss” Jerry said quietly. “Let’s go ahead with the plan now.”

“Alright, on my count.” Jerry watched, excited, for Dean’s tail to wag three times.

Once given the signal, Jerry leaped up and barked his most menacing bark at the petrified squirrel. Coming alive, the squirrel leaped to the side, but missed the edge of the fence and tumbled down on top of the grass, now at Dean’s mercy.

“I got him!” Dean leaped over to the squirrel and chased him as fast as he could. Dean’s back fur stuck up as he tried to intimidate the squirrel, backing it into a corner. Desperate for escape, the squirrel dashed from side to side and then back again, so quick it was a blur, but Dean expertly anticipated its every move.

Jerry sat not far away, cheering on Dean, barking encouragement as loud he could as he watched Dean volley with the animal, hoping for his partner’s success.

The squirrel made the mistake of trying to climb back up the fence, and on its first falter, Dean jumped up and pushed him down with both of his paws, and then crouched down, eye level with the exhausted squirrel. The squirrel used the rest of what little energy it possessed to try to climb back up again, now its only possible escape, but failed. The last thing it remembered was Dean’s teeth encasing its body for several chews until the squirrel hung limp from his smiling mouth.

“Yeah!” Jerry leaped up on his hind legs and cheered! “Wooo! Go Dean! You got him!”

“Let’s go.” Dean said out the side of his mouth, and with Dean leading the way, they ran their victory lap back to the patio door.

One of their owners was sitting at the patio table, watching them come in. Placing the squirrel at her feet, Dean and Jerry sat panting vigorously and beaming with pride, waiting for their owner to see the great gift they had presented to her. When she saw, their owner screamed because she was so overwhelmed with happiness.

She yelled praises at them for a long time, pointing to the squirrel and then their faces with great excitement. They had never seen her this happy. She opened the sliding glass door, and shoved them inside, leading them to their cages, thanking them loudly all the way. She was so grateful; she even gave them both congratulatory pats on the noses before locking them up and going back to examine her present with great enthusiasm.

“We did well, Jer. Thanks for your help.” Dean took a long drink of water and lay down, exhausted, in his crate.

“Oh, you’re welcome, Dean! I’m just glad we made our owner so happy!” He was panting wildly and finally threw himself down on the floor, his belly flopping over to the side. “I had so much fun, and you were awesome! We should do it again as soon as we have the chance!”

“Of course we will.” Dean agreed.

That'll be $1.29 and a little piece of your dignity, please.

Every time I hear a new (or old) song that I even remotely enjoy, I suddenly have to have it. I have to own it, to be able to listen to it whenever I want to. Now, I listen to my music, and it is worth it, most of the time, but I have a serious iTunes addiction. This would not even be a problem if I were like most people in this world who just rip their music for free off the internet. Me, though, I pay for every song, and then I pay for that indiscretion both financially and emotionally.

 $1.29, or $.99, if you’re buying a song no one sees much worth for anymore, doesn’t seem like much. That’s the kicker. It seems like so little that you click the button without even thinking, and then because it was so easy (click!) you do it again. Before you know it, you’re $15 poorer than you were 5 minutes ago, or, in all actuality, $15 poorer than you were 2 weeks ago, because on top of it all, iTunes feels the need to delay your transaction for an eternity before they make you pay. Not only do they have all the new shiny music readily available for your every craving and desire for instant gratification, but iTunes also possesses the element of surprise. Whenever my bank account randomly drops a sizable amount, I know that about three eons ago, I must have been buying too much music.

Every time I go on a binge, I tell myself I will never do it again. I have tried fasting from iTunes, I’ve tried switching to the curiously free podcasts, I’ve tried just listening to old music I bought and never paid much attention to, but nothing works. It’s a problem, and I’m slowly losing all respect for myself. Buying music temporarily makes me feel better, and I'm in the same vicious circle as all addicts. I seek comfort in the thing that ultimately causes me a great (or the greatest) deal of discomfort.

You Should Read This Book

Redeeming Love is officially my favorite book, and it is not easy for a book to wrangle that sentiment out of me. Very seldom is there a book I love so much that it becomes my one and only “favorite.” More often I will say “Wow that book is one of my favorites,” or “that is one of the best books I have ever read.” Rarely do I say, “That book is brilliantly written in a way that entertains me, defines the majority of my values, helps me overcome personal issues, and brings me closer to God like nothing else.” Together with God, Francine Rivers created an extraordinary piece of fiction that’s theme has been permanently engrained in my heart. I adore Redeeming Love and how it makes me hungry for Jesus. God did something great leading me to read this book, and hopefully He’ll do the same for you.

Yes, I Am A Hypocrite

Today, to my panic-inducing horror, I noticed that my local Borders is closing. Upon arriving home, devasted and with a crushed spirit, I researched the insanity. I got the full story here. I am not alone in my perils. Over 200 Borders stores are closing, most-likely due to recently unloyal customers like myself.

Truly, I think it is a pity that we live in such an age of technological abundance, and while I have had my muffled of-a-whim worries before, this is the first time I have ever been seriously distraught over the absolute power that technology holds over our society. Amidst the Nook, the Kindle, and Amazon itself, bookstores are being made obsolete. Borders can only be the first of many. The beauty of wandering around a bookstore, reading, browsing, and smelling all the wonderful new books for hours on end is slowly being effaced from our world, and it makes me want to cry.

But I am not above this travesty. Nay, I have contributed to it most generously. While I do not own a book-belittling device such as the Kindle because I still cherish being able to hold an actual bound book in my hands, admire the covers, physically turn the pages, and see how far along I am by glancing at the dog-earred section, I am an avid Amazon shopper. (I've turned completely over for digital music, but I hope I never totally give into the surge of ebooks). 

As much as it saddens me deep down, I buy books offline like crazy - because honestly, why would I pay over $20 for a book from Borders when I could get it from Amazon for half the price (or sometimes much less) plus a little shipping (and sometimes not even that if it's under my Prime), and get to share in the excitement of getting a package in the mail? Some of those cheap books from Amazon are even new, and if they're not, they have their own little history, and that's interesting. Not to mention, Amazon has like, everything. The only element that is truly lost, the browsing atmosphere, is even apparently much more easily relinquished than one would think, for a cheap book-hoarder like me. I'll admit it, though I'm not proud.

I just have to pray that something miraculous occurs, and the novelty (ha, did you catch that?) of book stores will hit again, before the sad fate Borders becomes typical. Or, maybe their new plan will work and they will be able to salvage themselves before all hope is lost. Whatever the outcome, I will probably always be a devoted Amazon shopper, even though a world without bookstores would just be..downright scary, for many reasons. So I guess I have proved my post title right. In my perfect reality, I would have bookstores to go into whenever I felt the desire, to simply look in, and then go home and buy the books for cheap off Amazon. Yes, I am a hypocrite, and I give Borders a sincere apology. I wish you the best, my former favorite bookstore!

Beautiful Creation

Molded in your hands, I am.

Shaped to your perfection,

My body curved by the will of your hand

In every direction.

Taking very special care,

You counted out the hairs on my head,

And you carved out my mouth,

Painting my lips a subtle red.

You put the dimples in my cheeks,

And the color in my eyes.

Measured out my forehead,

Made my nose the perfect size.

You squeezed my hands into form

By holding them in your own,

Making me in your image,

You promised to never leave me alone.

You gave my hips their curve,

 Pulled out my legs and feet,

And prepared the way for me to go,

 For the world I was to meet

Then You lit the fire of your love inside me,

Excited to watch me grow.

You waited for me to accept your son,

And Right on time, you finally led me to know:

How beautiful your creation is.

How much you love me so.

How brilliant it will be, when I return home.

Even though I may not understand it at first,

You will give me all the love you’ve got,

And carry me through my worst.

For, You sent me a savior,

That shed his blood to forgive,

Just so You can be certain

That your immaculate creation will live.

I've Decided to Convert to Monogamy

For a long time now, I have been very unsettled – unable to find my thing. Most everyone out there has a thing, whether they know it or not. Some people’s things are simply beautiful like baking or quilting. Others have things that have shaped their careers, like professional sport-players, celebrities (a worthy few can be excluded), photographers, or journalists. Others still have things that they use solely to escape from reality, like Xbox junkies or romance-novel collectors. Then you have the people who use their things to bring them inner-peace, like hikers or yoga-fanatics. Further still, you have the obsessive-types who at one point in time had lives, but then let their things run away with them, like serious dog-show competitors or mimes. I’m just kidding, I really like mimes – they are so uncanny. But whatever the case, not only is everyone’s thing born from what they love, but also from their talent. This is where I’ve had some issues. The two (what I love and what I’m good at), for me, have never meshed. Or, I simply couldn’t pin down what it was, exactly, that I loved.

I’ve always been alright at writing. English has always been one of my better subjects in school, and the assignments I always got the most praise for were things I had written. I’ve had family and friends tell me I’m a good writer, and for all of my life I have adored reading, which almost all authors claim is what brought them to their craft. Typically, when people find they are really good at something, they do it. They do it because they like the reaction they get, and in most cases they will get paid the most to do it, thus, if you plug all the variables into the formula, they love what they’re good at doing. Me, though, well I’m just really stubborn.

For years I have considered other hobbies, or things, even though I knew that I was destined to be a writer. I’ve had affairs with other unsuitable passions and have been nothing but disappointed. And so, in order to use the talent God gave me to serve Him in the way for which He equipped me best, and to become the person He always knew me to be, I hereby declare that I am entering into a fully monogamous relationship with my thing. I am a writer. Not an actress, fashion designer, dollhouse maker, baker, singer, film-maker, or Amish culture expert (don’t ask), I’m who God made me to be. And, get this, I accept it.