Deuteronomy 8:1-5 - Keep and live out the entire commandment that I'm commanding you today so that you'll live and prosper and enter and own the land that God promised to your ancestors. Remember every road that God led you on for those forty years in the wilderness, pushing you to your limits, testing you so that he would know what you were made of, whether you would keep his commandments or not. He put you through hard times. He made you go hungry. Then he fed you with manna, something neither you nor your parents knew anything about, so you would learn that men and women don't live by bread only; we live by every word that comes from God's mouth. Your clothes didn't wear out and your feet didn't blister those forty years. You learned deep in your heart that God disciplines you in the same ways a father disciplines his child.
I read this passage last night and it really jumped out at me. I was struck with the thought of just how relevant the Old Testament is. Not just for knowing our history and the prophecies about the Messiah to affirm our faith, but to instruct us how to live.
Look at this passage. We never entered a land promised to our ancestors. We weren't literally led through a wilderness for forty years. God never gave us manna to eat when we were hungry. But we know all about wandering through a foreign place without any clear directions, without any foreknowledge. We know about going spiritually hungry with only God to satisfy us. We have felt God discipline us the way our earthly parents punish us and set us back on the right track.
As Moses said, God tests us to see how we react. He wants to know where our true loyalties are, if we walk the walk or not. It reminds me of when Jason and Kim left First Pres. It was so tempting to curse at God and never speak to Him again for taking them away from me. But somewhere, in the back of my head or deep in my heart, I knew that the only One I could go to was God. And He was the One to comfort me and lead me out of that unfamiliar "wilderness". I think that that moment really solidified my trust in God and the way that I love Him. It's unconditional. I know that sometimes, well, a lot of times, I don't hold up my end of the deal. But if the Old Testament is as relevant as God says it is, then He's been carrying out both sides of the bargain since He put Abraham in a deep sleep and performed the covenant ceremony alone.
I'm glad that I can rely on God like that, and that He put Himself in such a vulnerable position for me. I know that we are all undeserving, but the fact that He would do this for us so early in the salvation process gives me hope. And now I know what God wants me to do: love Him; keep His commands; love others. Bear good fruit. I can't do it alone, but thank God for staying by my side while I try. :)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Expectations
A bar sits on a pedestal in the center of the room. You are alone. The objective is to make it to the other side of the room. Something must be done about that bar. You have a few choices:
1. Ignore the bar and smack right into it;
2. Step around the bar;
3. Duck under the bar; or
4. Jump over the bar.
Well, ignoring it does no good unless you want a bruised forehead. You are forced to face the challenge before you in another way.
Stepping around it is perfectly fine, if you prefer evasiveness. You can avoid the problem all you want but it’s still there. Your sense of accomplishment won’t be very high, either.
How about ducking under the bar? Whew, that was a close one! You took a risk, putting yourself in such a vulnerable position. What if the bar had fallen off of the pedestal? But you made it without a scratch. You didn’t even touch the bar. Still, the thrill isn’t as high as it could have been.
The only other option is to jump over it. You back up to the wall, breathe in deeply, and then pump your legs as fast as you possibly can. Faster, faster, until you throw your body into an arch, tuck your legs in, and clear the bar with two inches to spare. You land firmly on your feet and exit the room with well-earned pride.
What is the point, though? If all you have to do is walk across the room, why bother jumping?
Imagine that the bar represents the standards that you are striving for in life. You still have the same choices for meeting those expectations. So let us review the merits of each one.
Ignoring what is expected of you can be dangerous and harmful to your one and only experience of life. If you continually treat life as a joke without its challenges, you will be stuck in one place, bumping your head.
Avoiding the challenges is acceptable if you want to lead a boring life. Taking risks will enrich your life further if that is what you desire, but there is nothing necessarily wrong with living safely. Consider it carefully before you make that decision, because there’s no way to make it through life alive.
Playing limbo with those expectations is the best option thus far. That is the equivalent of almost reaching it, getting as close as you can without actually touching it. You will feel satisfied with taking the plunge and attempting it, but unless you actually reach your goals and your full potential, you will be missing out on some of the opportunities life has to offer. Yes, it is risky, making it to the top, but it is worth the risk.
That leaves treating the expectations like a high jump bar. This is the most dangerous of all. By making the leap, you are letting go of your fears and self-consciousness and just going for it. It is only fair to warn you that you may fail the first few times. It takes practice to successfully clear the bar. But the practice is worth it, because when your life is over, you will be able to stand tall and say, “I made the jump. I took the risk, and I made it over.”
See, if that bar represents the expectations placed on you, there is still a lot of space between the bar and the ceiling. There is plenty of open sky waiting for you to reach out and try to grasp. Don’t ignore it, step around it, or duck under it. Reach for the stars. Take a running start and launch yourself into all of life’s possibilities. Live until the day you die. Challenge those expectations.
1. Ignore the bar and smack right into it;
2. Step around the bar;
3. Duck under the bar; or
4. Jump over the bar.
Well, ignoring it does no good unless you want a bruised forehead. You are forced to face the challenge before you in another way.
Stepping around it is perfectly fine, if you prefer evasiveness. You can avoid the problem all you want but it’s still there. Your sense of accomplishment won’t be very high, either.
How about ducking under the bar? Whew, that was a close one! You took a risk, putting yourself in such a vulnerable position. What if the bar had fallen off of the pedestal? But you made it without a scratch. You didn’t even touch the bar. Still, the thrill isn’t as high as it could have been.
The only other option is to jump over it. You back up to the wall, breathe in deeply, and then pump your legs as fast as you possibly can. Faster, faster, until you throw your body into an arch, tuck your legs in, and clear the bar with two inches to spare. You land firmly on your feet and exit the room with well-earned pride.
What is the point, though? If all you have to do is walk across the room, why bother jumping?
Imagine that the bar represents the standards that you are striving for in life. You still have the same choices for meeting those expectations. So let us review the merits of each one.
Ignoring what is expected of you can be dangerous and harmful to your one and only experience of life. If you continually treat life as a joke without its challenges, you will be stuck in one place, bumping your head.
Avoiding the challenges is acceptable if you want to lead a boring life. Taking risks will enrich your life further if that is what you desire, but there is nothing necessarily wrong with living safely. Consider it carefully before you make that decision, because there’s no way to make it through life alive.
Playing limbo with those expectations is the best option thus far. That is the equivalent of almost reaching it, getting as close as you can without actually touching it. You will feel satisfied with taking the plunge and attempting it, but unless you actually reach your goals and your full potential, you will be missing out on some of the opportunities life has to offer. Yes, it is risky, making it to the top, but it is worth the risk.
That leaves treating the expectations like a high jump bar. This is the most dangerous of all. By making the leap, you are letting go of your fears and self-consciousness and just going for it. It is only fair to warn you that you may fail the first few times. It takes practice to successfully clear the bar. But the practice is worth it, because when your life is over, you will be able to stand tall and say, “I made the jump. I took the risk, and I made it over.”
See, if that bar represents the expectations placed on you, there is still a lot of space between the bar and the ceiling. There is plenty of open sky waiting for you to reach out and try to grasp. Don’t ignore it, step around it, or duck under it. Reach for the stars. Take a running start and launch yourself into all of life’s possibilities. Live until the day you die. Challenge those expectations.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Lessons from Nature
Here I am to worship
Here I am to bow down
Here I am to say that you're my God
You're altogether lovely
Altogether worthy
Altogether wonderful to me
God took the opportunity to teach me something this morning. My day hadn't started out well, and since Greg was riding with Mom, I determined that I would rant to God on the way to school, you know, let off some steam. I stepped outside and instinctively glanced over to Eddie and Melissa's yard. I stopped. The sun was shining through the trees and reflecting off the dew on the grass and highlighting the flowers. I dropped my stuff off in my car and ran back inside to grab my camera. I knew that it wouldn't completely capture the beauty, but I wanted to try. After that I walked around the front yard and took more shots of God's creation. I was enjoying myself basking in God's beautiful glory.
When I got into the car I didn't rant. I was ready for a worship experience. This is the first song that came on. I just kept singing and pouring my heart out to God, and at one point I was so into the worship experience that I almost forgot to move forward! I think that God showed me that I have nothing to complain about and everything to praise him about. And I found that I let off all the tension of my bad start through worshipping my Creator. What a way to start my day, huh?
Here I am to bow down
Here I am to say that you're my God
You're altogether lovely
Altogether worthy
Altogether wonderful to me
God took the opportunity to teach me something this morning. My day hadn't started out well, and since Greg was riding with Mom, I determined that I would rant to God on the way to school, you know, let off some steam. I stepped outside and instinctively glanced over to Eddie and Melissa's yard. I stopped. The sun was shining through the trees and reflecting off the dew on the grass and highlighting the flowers. I dropped my stuff off in my car and ran back inside to grab my camera. I knew that it wouldn't completely capture the beauty, but I wanted to try. After that I walked around the front yard and took more shots of God's creation. I was enjoying myself basking in God's beautiful glory.
When I got into the car I didn't rant. I was ready for a worship experience. This is the first song that came on. I just kept singing and pouring my heart out to God, and at one point I was so into the worship experience that I almost forgot to move forward! I think that God showed me that I have nothing to complain about and everything to praise him about. And I found that I let off all the tension of my bad start through worshipping my Creator. What a way to start my day, huh?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
College Essays
Yes, it's that time of my life. I need to come up with an essay topic for my college applications. Here are the choices:
1. Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, a risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
2. Discuss some issue of personal, local, national, or international concern and its importance to you.
3. Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.
4. Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
5. A range of academic interests, personal perspectives, and life experiences adds much to the educational mix. Given your personal background, describe an experience that illustrates what you would bring to the diversity in a college community, or an encounter that illustrated the importance of diversity to you.
6. Topic of your choice.
So, to begin my essay process, I thought that I would make a list of potential topics under each topic and leave them to your criticism. I may add to this list later.
1. Speaking out for my faith in Spanish class
Initiating a petition for the eighth grade day/dance
2.
3. Kim and her influence on living my faith outwardly
4. Jane Eyre (book or character)
Left Behind series
5.
6. Favorite meal--tomato soup and grilled cheese tied in to family reunions
My love for sunrises--description of beauty outside tied in with breakfast and my family
I'll post more when I'm not so exhausted after Spring Break.
1. Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, a risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
2. Discuss some issue of personal, local, national, or international concern and its importance to you.
3. Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.
4. Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
5. A range of academic interests, personal perspectives, and life experiences adds much to the educational mix. Given your personal background, describe an experience that illustrates what you would bring to the diversity in a college community, or an encounter that illustrated the importance of diversity to you.
6. Topic of your choice.
So, to begin my essay process, I thought that I would make a list of potential topics under each topic and leave them to your criticism. I may add to this list later.
1. Speaking out for my faith in Spanish class
Initiating a petition for the eighth grade day/dance
2.
3. Kim and her influence on living my faith outwardly
4. Jane Eyre (book or character)
Left Behind series
5.
6. Favorite meal--tomato soup and grilled cheese tied in to family reunions
My love for sunrises--description of beauty outside tied in with breakfast and my family
I'll post more when I'm not so exhausted after Spring Break.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
David
There was once a boy named David. The youngest of eight boys, he was often overlooked and ignored. His job was to tend sheep, because he was too young to be a soldier and, though an undesirable job, someone had to do it. He worked hard in the fields, and earned a little fame from killing a lion and a bear to protect his little flock.
One day, while he was shepherding, one of his brothers called him inside. He glanced swiftly about the surroundings to make sure no harm would befall his sheep while he was gone, and then followed his brother inside. His father and older brothers were sitting at their table watching him gravely, and a prophet of whom David had only heard about stood before him. Samuel!
Samuel surveyed him and nodded. "Yes, he's the one." He pulled a horn of oil out of his belt and annointed David, proclaiming him the next king of Israel.
Wait...what? A young, insignificant shepherd boy was just chosen as a country's next king?
It seems unbelievable, doesn't it? And from here, we know the rest of the story. But when we started a series on the life of David in church this morning, I was struck by David's life before that day that his life turned about face. No one was expecting this to happen, least of all David. After all, he was a shepherd. He spent day after day protecting sheep, rescuing sheep, checking sheep for disease and parasites...not exactly a fulfilling life.
But David was satisfied. He didn't see shepherding as a temporary annoyance that he would deal with until he came of age. He didn't dream of becoming a great soldier or taking over his father's business. Instead he praised God and faithfully performed his duty, living for the day.
This sort of lifestyle seems almost impossible in America. Our society is so fast-paced that we don't even have time to think about tomorrow. We have to fill our planners weeks in advance so we can get things done. Students are constantly dreaming or stressing about the next test, the next school, the first job. Adults have to anticipate every moment or else fall behind.
But what if we don't have to? What if we could live like one little boy named David who knew that God had a purpose for his life, so he patiently and faithfully lived his life in the present. It's worth a shot.
One day, while he was shepherding, one of his brothers called him inside. He glanced swiftly about the surroundings to make sure no harm would befall his sheep while he was gone, and then followed his brother inside. His father and older brothers were sitting at their table watching him gravely, and a prophet of whom David had only heard about stood before him. Samuel!
Samuel surveyed him and nodded. "Yes, he's the one." He pulled a horn of oil out of his belt and annointed David, proclaiming him the next king of Israel.
Wait...what? A young, insignificant shepherd boy was just chosen as a country's next king?
It seems unbelievable, doesn't it? And from here, we know the rest of the story. But when we started a series on the life of David in church this morning, I was struck by David's life before that day that his life turned about face. No one was expecting this to happen, least of all David. After all, he was a shepherd. He spent day after day protecting sheep, rescuing sheep, checking sheep for disease and parasites...not exactly a fulfilling life.
But David was satisfied. He didn't see shepherding as a temporary annoyance that he would deal with until he came of age. He didn't dream of becoming a great soldier or taking over his father's business. Instead he praised God and faithfully performed his duty, living for the day.
This sort of lifestyle seems almost impossible in America. Our society is so fast-paced that we don't even have time to think about tomorrow. We have to fill our planners weeks in advance so we can get things done. Students are constantly dreaming or stressing about the next test, the next school, the first job. Adults have to anticipate every moment or else fall behind.
But what if we don't have to? What if we could live like one little boy named David who knew that God had a purpose for his life, so he patiently and faithfully lived his life in the present. It's worth a shot.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Starting Over: Prologue
Emilea dearest, if you get the chance, please proof this for me. This is an edit of the story that used to have its own blog. If I make more headway with it, I might start a fictionpress account. Thanks, I love you!
Prologue
Waking up was disorienting. It wasn’t strange having Matthew and Sandy pressed up tightly against me, their hair wet with sweat from the summer morning heat. The loud fan blowing as hard as it could to keep us cool hadn’t startled me awake. It just took me a moment to realize where I was. I sat up quickly, eliciting a grunt from Matthew before he turned over. I quickly surveyed the room. When I located our book bags sitting on an old, white rocking chair, my heart slowed and I slumped in relief. Donny wasn’t about to storm into the room demanding why we were still asleep on a school day. We were in Mississippi, far from his reach. We were safe.
Still, safety wasn’t enough to coax me back to sleep. Extracting myself from Sandy’s arms while trying not to jostle either of them, I slid off of the large bed in the guest room Mabel had let us use. The room was simple but quaint. Lace curtains lined the one small window, and built-in shelves on either side of the window carried antique books, a small radio, some porcelain dolls, and a vase filled with a variety of flowers, no doubt picked from Mabel’s garden. At the end of the bed rested a hand-sewn quilt.
I smiled. The room reflected Mabel’s personality perfectly. Though I’d known her for less than a day, she seemed to be a warm, homey sort of person, and she had filled this room with her love and perspective on life.
I pulled socks over my feet to muffle the sound of my walking and tip-toed to the bathroom. After I relieved myself, I rinsed my hands and my face. When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I noticed a green, terrycloth robe hanging on the towel rack. I reached for it, and noticed a short note attached to it. I grinned as I began to read: “From the desk of Mabel Charity Blythe.
“Emmalyne,
I found this last night in my daughter Jaden’s old bedroom. You two are about the same size, so I thought it might fit you. I hope you like it.
Mabel.”
I laid the note carefully on the countertop, trying to avoid getting it wet, and pulled the robe on. It was a perfect fit, and the material caressed my skin.
After checking in one more time with Matthew and Sandy, I silently left the room and treaded to the kitchen. I glanced at the clock on my way in: 8:13. Anderson had mentioned that breakfast started at 8, so maybe there would at least be some oatmeal on the stove. When I arrived, I was mildly surprised to see Anderson sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. The remnants of a large stack of pancakes sat on a plate in front of him. My stomach growled.
Anderson started at the sound. “Oh, hey, Emmalyne,” he welcomed. He lowered his newspaper. “How are you doin’ this lovely mornin’?”
I grinned at his southern drawl. Kids in Charleston often teased me for the accent I brought with me from Texas, but mine could never compare to his. “Oh, you know,” I answered nonchalantly. “I’m kinda hungry.”
He was on his feet in an instant. He carefully folded his newspaper and stacked his syrup-covered plate in the sink on his way to the griddle. “What can I get for you?” he wanted to know. “Two? Three? Ten?”
I chuckled, almost stopping short when I realized that I was actually laughing. “Maybe I should just start with three?” I suggested nervously.
If Anderson noticed my hesitation, he didn’t comment on it. He poured three perfect circles of batter on the griddle. The appliance hissed with satisfaction as it forced the batter to slowly rise. Bubbles formed on the tops.
“What can I get you to drink while you’re waitin’?” he asked.
I jerked out of my fascination with the cooking pancakes. “Oh, uh…”
“I just fixed up a pot of coffee, if you’re interested,” he offered.
I laughed again, more of a bark this time. A world where I could tolerate any form of coffee had yet to be discovered. “I’m not much of a coffee person,” I admitted. “Maybe…orange juice?”
Anderson nodded swiftly. “Comin’ right up!” He yanked open the refrigerator door and removed a carton of Tropicana: Lots of Pulp orange juice. As he shook it up, he opened a cabinet and retrieved a short glass. He let me sit and pour it myself while he flipped the pancakes.
I sipped the juice and relaxed. It was a nice morning, and Donny wasn’t about to yell at us for drinking too much orange juice and wasting his hard-earned money. Anderson and I sat in companionable silence.
A few minutes later, he presented the pancakes to me with a flourish. Butter melted down the sides of the stack and syrup covered every part that was visible. It looked delectable, and I was suddenly ravenous. Anderson chuckled as I scarfed it all down and paused only to finish and refill my glass of orange juice.
When I finished eating neither of us made any move to leave, so I sat and studied the kitchen. It resembled the guest room in many ways—same lace curtains, a similar assortment of flowers on the window. The countertops carried large containers of flour, sugar, and other such baking goods, as well as an assortment of cutlery and common spices like salt and pepper. A cross-stitched piece was framed and hung on the wall next to the refrigerator: “Home is where the heart is”. Mabel’s touch was evident here as well.
Anderson cleared his throat, breaking my reverie. “I noticed that the kids slept in your room last night,” he told me. He watched me with a guarded expression.
My carefree trust of him diminished rapidly with my fear. “Were you spying on us?” I demanded.
He watched me for another moment, then threw back his head and laughed. The table rumbled with vibrations from his chest. I glared at his prickly brown-gray beard and his twinkly blue eyes. This was not a laughing matter. Anderson didn’t understand how fiercely protective I was of my siblings, how I would sacrifice anything for them. He didn’t get that I rarely trusted anyone with Matthew and Sandy’s safety. If he did, he wouldn’t be so careless with his actions.
After a few seconds, he focused on me again. “What cause would I have to spy on you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I got up to get a drink of water last night, and I decided to check in and make sure you kids were okay. I guess I shouldn’t’ve been too surprised to find the three of you together. Is that typical for you?”
So he hadn’t been spying on us. He was as concerned about them as I was? Or was he? Mabel was, there was no doubt about that. Anderson couldn’t be so much different from his wife. Deciding for the moment that he was still trustworthy, I nodded. “We…find comfort in each other,” I explained. “We feel safer when we’re together.”
Anderson leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I noticed that,” he said. “Those kids…they trust you like you’re their mother.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I filed another mental note next to “wasn’t spying”: “recognized my maternal instinct”. “I’m sorta like the mother they never had.”
He frowned, suddenly serious. “Did your mother die?”
“Oh.” I frowned, too. I guess I could see how he jumped to that conclusion. Metaphorically, she had died to me, but that wasn’t what he wanted to know. “No,” I sighed. “She’s just…not much of a mother.”
For awhile Anderson sat very still. His only motion was his left hand stroking his beard. He seemed deep in thought. Abruptly he stood, coffee mug in hand, and refilled his cup from the coffee-maker next to the gas stove. When he returned to his place at the table, he met my gaze steadily. “I’m tryin’ real hard to figure you out, Emmalyne,” he said slowly, pondering his words even as he said them. “It’s like I’m lookin’ at a Where’s Waldo? book and I can see a bunch of people that look like you, but I can’t find you.”
I laughed lightly, trying to hide my inner turmoil. We weren’t supposed to talk about this for two more days. I wasn’t ready to trust him with my life story yet. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stay in his house all day. “I guess I’m not like most runaways you get,” I suggested.
Anderson laughed back. “Most runaways that come through here come alone, or with a boyfriend or girlfriend,” he informed me. His expression was suddenly solemn again. “Most aren’t spendin’ extra money and energy by bringin’ their younger siblings along.” He paused. “I’ve been wonderin’ about that.”
My heart pounded heavily. How much had he already guessed about us? I wasn’t ready to give away that secret. It was reserved for Forrest’s dad. “In all the few hours you’ve known us?” I finally teased.
His face changed from seriousness to anger. “Stop playin’ games with me,” he growled. I jerked, startled by his transformation. “I heard you talkin’ to those kids before you went to bed last night.” Spying, spying! “You were sayin’ that I’d help you get to Texas so you could finally see Forrest again, and that once you got there, all of you would be safe.”
I was terrified and deeply suspicious of this man, but I had to know why this was so bad. “What’s so awful about that?” I asked, voicing my thoughts.
Anderson leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice. “This Forrest…you have affections for him.”
I wanted to laugh when he said those words—I mean, “have affections for him”? That’s not exactly a common phrase—but all I could do was blush and stare. My burning face gave him all the ammunition he needed to back his theory, but I wasn’t red because I liked Forrest. I didn’t like him, at least not like that. I was suddenly just as mad as he was.
“You think I’m dragging the two people I love more than anything in the world halfway across the country because I wanna hook up with an old boyfriend?” I yelled. He winced, but I kept going. “You don’t know me at all, Anderson Blythe! You don’t know what I’d give up for them. You don’t know—” I stopped abruptly. I’d been about to say, “You don’t know how much danger they’re in.” But that would’ve given too much away.
The tension in his face relaxed, leaving a softer, warmer look in its place. “I’m sorry I upset you,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize just how maternal you really are. I thought it was a cover-up you’d come up with so it would look like you were running away for a good cause.”
I exhaled, letting all my anger out in a rush of air. I laughed bitterly. “We don’t need a cover-up,” I whispered. “Our real story is good enough.”
Anderson leaned back in his chair. He opened his arms in invitation. “Will you tell me?”
I tried to evade it, even though I was resigned to it already. “It’s a long story,” I hedged.
He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got two days,” he answered. He smiled encouragingly.
I sighed. Here goes, I thought.
Hey, Emilea! So I know that it says Prologue at the top, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to have a prologue anymore, that I'll just go in order. If you want to see the first two chapters, I have them posted at www.fictionpress.com/~evelynshaye. Thanks!
Prologue
Waking up was disorienting. It wasn’t strange having Matthew and Sandy pressed up tightly against me, their hair wet with sweat from the summer morning heat. The loud fan blowing as hard as it could to keep us cool hadn’t startled me awake. It just took me a moment to realize where I was. I sat up quickly, eliciting a grunt from Matthew before he turned over. I quickly surveyed the room. When I located our book bags sitting on an old, white rocking chair, my heart slowed and I slumped in relief. Donny wasn’t about to storm into the room demanding why we were still asleep on a school day. We were in Mississippi, far from his reach. We were safe.
Still, safety wasn’t enough to coax me back to sleep. Extracting myself from Sandy’s arms while trying not to jostle either of them, I slid off of the large bed in the guest room Mabel had let us use. The room was simple but quaint. Lace curtains lined the one small window, and built-in shelves on either side of the window carried antique books, a small radio, some porcelain dolls, and a vase filled with a variety of flowers, no doubt picked from Mabel’s garden. At the end of the bed rested a hand-sewn quilt.
I smiled. The room reflected Mabel’s personality perfectly. Though I’d known her for less than a day, she seemed to be a warm, homey sort of person, and she had filled this room with her love and perspective on life.
I pulled socks over my feet to muffle the sound of my walking and tip-toed to the bathroom. After I relieved myself, I rinsed my hands and my face. When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I noticed a green, terrycloth robe hanging on the towel rack. I reached for it, and noticed a short note attached to it. I grinned as I began to read: “From the desk of Mabel Charity Blythe.
“Emmalyne,
I found this last night in my daughter Jaden’s old bedroom. You two are about the same size, so I thought it might fit you. I hope you like it.
Mabel.”
I laid the note carefully on the countertop, trying to avoid getting it wet, and pulled the robe on. It was a perfect fit, and the material caressed my skin.
After checking in one more time with Matthew and Sandy, I silently left the room and treaded to the kitchen. I glanced at the clock on my way in: 8:13. Anderson had mentioned that breakfast started at 8, so maybe there would at least be some oatmeal on the stove. When I arrived, I was mildly surprised to see Anderson sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. The remnants of a large stack of pancakes sat on a plate in front of him. My stomach growled.
Anderson started at the sound. “Oh, hey, Emmalyne,” he welcomed. He lowered his newspaper. “How are you doin’ this lovely mornin’?”
I grinned at his southern drawl. Kids in Charleston often teased me for the accent I brought with me from Texas, but mine could never compare to his. “Oh, you know,” I answered nonchalantly. “I’m kinda hungry.”
He was on his feet in an instant. He carefully folded his newspaper and stacked his syrup-covered plate in the sink on his way to the griddle. “What can I get for you?” he wanted to know. “Two? Three? Ten?”
I chuckled, almost stopping short when I realized that I was actually laughing. “Maybe I should just start with three?” I suggested nervously.
If Anderson noticed my hesitation, he didn’t comment on it. He poured three perfect circles of batter on the griddle. The appliance hissed with satisfaction as it forced the batter to slowly rise. Bubbles formed on the tops.
“What can I get you to drink while you’re waitin’?” he asked.
I jerked out of my fascination with the cooking pancakes. “Oh, uh…”
“I just fixed up a pot of coffee, if you’re interested,” he offered.
I laughed again, more of a bark this time. A world where I could tolerate any form of coffee had yet to be discovered. “I’m not much of a coffee person,” I admitted. “Maybe…orange juice?”
Anderson nodded swiftly. “Comin’ right up!” He yanked open the refrigerator door and removed a carton of Tropicana: Lots of Pulp orange juice. As he shook it up, he opened a cabinet and retrieved a short glass. He let me sit and pour it myself while he flipped the pancakes.
I sipped the juice and relaxed. It was a nice morning, and Donny wasn’t about to yell at us for drinking too much orange juice and wasting his hard-earned money. Anderson and I sat in companionable silence.
A few minutes later, he presented the pancakes to me with a flourish. Butter melted down the sides of the stack and syrup covered every part that was visible. It looked delectable, and I was suddenly ravenous. Anderson chuckled as I scarfed it all down and paused only to finish and refill my glass of orange juice.
When I finished eating neither of us made any move to leave, so I sat and studied the kitchen. It resembled the guest room in many ways—same lace curtains, a similar assortment of flowers on the window. The countertops carried large containers of flour, sugar, and other such baking goods, as well as an assortment of cutlery and common spices like salt and pepper. A cross-stitched piece was framed and hung on the wall next to the refrigerator: “Home is where the heart is”. Mabel’s touch was evident here as well.
Anderson cleared his throat, breaking my reverie. “I noticed that the kids slept in your room last night,” he told me. He watched me with a guarded expression.
My carefree trust of him diminished rapidly with my fear. “Were you spying on us?” I demanded.
He watched me for another moment, then threw back his head and laughed. The table rumbled with vibrations from his chest. I glared at his prickly brown-gray beard and his twinkly blue eyes. This was not a laughing matter. Anderson didn’t understand how fiercely protective I was of my siblings, how I would sacrifice anything for them. He didn’t get that I rarely trusted anyone with Matthew and Sandy’s safety. If he did, he wouldn’t be so careless with his actions.
After a few seconds, he focused on me again. “What cause would I have to spy on you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I got up to get a drink of water last night, and I decided to check in and make sure you kids were okay. I guess I shouldn’t’ve been too surprised to find the three of you together. Is that typical for you?”
So he hadn’t been spying on us. He was as concerned about them as I was? Or was he? Mabel was, there was no doubt about that. Anderson couldn’t be so much different from his wife. Deciding for the moment that he was still trustworthy, I nodded. “We…find comfort in each other,” I explained. “We feel safer when we’re together.”
Anderson leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I noticed that,” he said. “Those kids…they trust you like you’re their mother.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I filed another mental note next to “wasn’t spying”: “recognized my maternal instinct”. “I’m sorta like the mother they never had.”
He frowned, suddenly serious. “Did your mother die?”
“Oh.” I frowned, too. I guess I could see how he jumped to that conclusion. Metaphorically, she had died to me, but that wasn’t what he wanted to know. “No,” I sighed. “She’s just…not much of a mother.”
For awhile Anderson sat very still. His only motion was his left hand stroking his beard. He seemed deep in thought. Abruptly he stood, coffee mug in hand, and refilled his cup from the coffee-maker next to the gas stove. When he returned to his place at the table, he met my gaze steadily. “I’m tryin’ real hard to figure you out, Emmalyne,” he said slowly, pondering his words even as he said them. “It’s like I’m lookin’ at a Where’s Waldo? book and I can see a bunch of people that look like you, but I can’t find you.”
I laughed lightly, trying to hide my inner turmoil. We weren’t supposed to talk about this for two more days. I wasn’t ready to trust him with my life story yet. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stay in his house all day. “I guess I’m not like most runaways you get,” I suggested.
Anderson laughed back. “Most runaways that come through here come alone, or with a boyfriend or girlfriend,” he informed me. His expression was suddenly solemn again. “Most aren’t spendin’ extra money and energy by bringin’ their younger siblings along.” He paused. “I’ve been wonderin’ about that.”
My heart pounded heavily. How much had he already guessed about us? I wasn’t ready to give away that secret. It was reserved for Forrest’s dad. “In all the few hours you’ve known us?” I finally teased.
His face changed from seriousness to anger. “Stop playin’ games with me,” he growled. I jerked, startled by his transformation. “I heard you talkin’ to those kids before you went to bed last night.” Spying, spying! “You were sayin’ that I’d help you get to Texas so you could finally see Forrest again, and that once you got there, all of you would be safe.”
I was terrified and deeply suspicious of this man, but I had to know why this was so bad. “What’s so awful about that?” I asked, voicing my thoughts.
Anderson leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice. “This Forrest…you have affections for him.”
I wanted to laugh when he said those words—I mean, “have affections for him”? That’s not exactly a common phrase—but all I could do was blush and stare. My burning face gave him all the ammunition he needed to back his theory, but I wasn’t red because I liked Forrest. I didn’t like him, at least not like that. I was suddenly just as mad as he was.
“You think I’m dragging the two people I love more than anything in the world halfway across the country because I wanna hook up with an old boyfriend?” I yelled. He winced, but I kept going. “You don’t know me at all, Anderson Blythe! You don’t know what I’d give up for them. You don’t know—” I stopped abruptly. I’d been about to say, “You don’t know how much danger they’re in.” But that would’ve given too much away.
The tension in his face relaxed, leaving a softer, warmer look in its place. “I’m sorry I upset you,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize just how maternal you really are. I thought it was a cover-up you’d come up with so it would look like you were running away for a good cause.”
I exhaled, letting all my anger out in a rush of air. I laughed bitterly. “We don’t need a cover-up,” I whispered. “Our real story is good enough.”
Anderson leaned back in his chair. He opened his arms in invitation. “Will you tell me?”
I tried to evade it, even though I was resigned to it already. “It’s a long story,” I hedged.
He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got two days,” he answered. He smiled encouragingly.
I sighed. Here goes, I thought.
Hey, Emilea! So I know that it says Prologue at the top, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to have a prologue anymore, that I'll just go in order. If you want to see the first two chapters, I have them posted at www.fictionpress.com/~evelynshaye. Thanks!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Rejection to Unbreakable
I've been thinking about my relationship with God. For the last few years I've been very aware of Him, but not necessarily making Him a priority. That usually happened at camps. I'd last for about a week before going back to my pre-camp life--mostly without God. Whenever I realize that this is happening and that I really love God, I get frustrated with myself. Why does my flesh reject the One I want to love the most?
Then I read this book called The Host. It's a Stephenie Meyer book and it's really amazing. It's about Wanderer, a soul that inhabits a girl named Melanie's body. Only Melanie doesn't fade away like she's supposed to. She stays, and her thoughts begin to affect Wanda's (Wanderer's) thoughts. Wanda ends up falling in love with Jared, Melanie's boyfriend. Then she meets Ian, and finds that she loves him more than she loves Jared. But she can't love him because Melanie's body rejects anyone but Jared. Here's an excerpt from close to the end of the novel:
[Ian asked,] "Is it so unbearable to have me love you? Is that it? I can keep my mouth shut, Wanda. I won't say it again. You can be with Jared, if that's what you want...."
"No, Ian!" I took his face between my hands..."No. I--I love you, too. Me, the little silver worm in the back of her head. But my body doesn't love you. It can't love you. I can never love you in this body, Ian. It pulls me in two. It's unbearable."...
He closed his eyes again. His thick black lashes were wet with tears....
Oh, go ahead, Mel sighed. Do whatever you need to. I'll...step into the other room, she added dryly.
Thanks.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer to him until my lips touched his.
He curled his arms around me, pulling me tighter against his chest. Our lips moved together, fusing as if they would never divide...and I could taste the salt of our tears. His and mine.
Something began to change.
When Melanie's body touched Jared's body, it was like a wildfire--a fast burn that raced across the desert and consumed everything in its path.
With Ian it was different, so very different, because Melanie didn't love him the way I did. So when he touched me, it was deeper and slower than the wildfire, like the flow of molten rock far beneath the surface of the earth. Too deep to feel the heat of it, but it moved inexorably, changing the very foundations of the world with its advance.
My unwilling body was a fog between us--a thick curtain, but gauzy enough that I could see through it, could see what was happening.
It changed me, not her. It was almost a metallurgical process deep inside the core of who I was, something that had already begun, was already nearly forged. But this long, unbroken kiss finished it, searing and sharp edged--it shoved this new creation, all hissing, into the cold water that made it hard and final. Unbreakable.
I know that was a long excerpt, but could you see it? If you think of Melanie as our flesh, Wanda as our soul, and Ian as God, it's very similar to our Christian walk. We long for God, but reject Him at the same time. Still, there are moments that we can shove our human nature away and have close communion with God. It won't be until we have our new bodies that we can really connect with the One we love.
There's something powerful about connecting with God, no matter how you do it. You can read your Bible or pray. You can also put in a worship CD and sing and dance for Him. Shove all thoughts away and, for just an hour--which isn't much time at all--praise God for everything. Make an effort to be with Him. It's so worthwhile.
You know how The Host ends? (Don't read this if you don't want to spoil the ending.) Ian loves her so much that he gets her a new body, one without Melanie or anyone else in it, and they get this perfect love that can't be blocked or broken. That's how it will end for us one day. And really, that's just the beginning.
Then I read this book called The Host. It's a Stephenie Meyer book and it's really amazing. It's about Wanderer, a soul that inhabits a girl named Melanie's body. Only Melanie doesn't fade away like she's supposed to. She stays, and her thoughts begin to affect Wanda's (Wanderer's) thoughts. Wanda ends up falling in love with Jared, Melanie's boyfriend. Then she meets Ian, and finds that she loves him more than she loves Jared. But she can't love him because Melanie's body rejects anyone but Jared. Here's an excerpt from close to the end of the novel:
[Ian asked,] "Is it so unbearable to have me love you? Is that it? I can keep my mouth shut, Wanda. I won't say it again. You can be with Jared, if that's what you want...."
"No, Ian!" I took his face between my hands..."No. I--I love you, too. Me, the little silver worm in the back of her head. But my body doesn't love you. It can't love you. I can never love you in this body, Ian. It pulls me in two. It's unbearable."...
He closed his eyes again. His thick black lashes were wet with tears....
Oh, go ahead, Mel sighed. Do whatever you need to. I'll...step into the other room, she added dryly.
Thanks.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer to him until my lips touched his.
He curled his arms around me, pulling me tighter against his chest. Our lips moved together, fusing as if they would never divide...and I could taste the salt of our tears. His and mine.
Something began to change.
When Melanie's body touched Jared's body, it was like a wildfire--a fast burn that raced across the desert and consumed everything in its path.
With Ian it was different, so very different, because Melanie didn't love him the way I did. So when he touched me, it was deeper and slower than the wildfire, like the flow of molten rock far beneath the surface of the earth. Too deep to feel the heat of it, but it moved inexorably, changing the very foundations of the world with its advance.
My unwilling body was a fog between us--a thick curtain, but gauzy enough that I could see through it, could see what was happening.
It changed me, not her. It was almost a metallurgical process deep inside the core of who I was, something that had already begun, was already nearly forged. But this long, unbroken kiss finished it, searing and sharp edged--it shoved this new creation, all hissing, into the cold water that made it hard and final. Unbreakable.
I know that was a long excerpt, but could you see it? If you think of Melanie as our flesh, Wanda as our soul, and Ian as God, it's very similar to our Christian walk. We long for God, but reject Him at the same time. Still, there are moments that we can shove our human nature away and have close communion with God. It won't be until we have our new bodies that we can really connect with the One we love.
There's something powerful about connecting with God, no matter how you do it. You can read your Bible or pray. You can also put in a worship CD and sing and dance for Him. Shove all thoughts away and, for just an hour--which isn't much time at all--praise God for everything. Make an effort to be with Him. It's so worthwhile.
You know how The Host ends? (Don't read this if you don't want to spoil the ending.) Ian loves her so much that he gets her a new body, one without Melanie or anyone else in it, and they get this perfect love that can't be blocked or broken. That's how it will end for us one day. And really, that's just the beginning.
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