Ironically, convictions have just knocked me over the head.

I mentioned it previously, but I'm currently reading the book "Growing up Christian". I haven't really been taking much of a genuine interest in it, as I discarded it as 'to-be-read-school-literature', but I will, because this point is valid, and it makes me wonder what I've missed so far.

This weeks' chapter is on convictions of faith, and if your beliefs are faith based and personally established. Nearing the end of the chapter I came upon a group of questions with which I will follow more comments.

1. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe God exists?

2. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe the Bible is true?

3. What would you say to someone who asked how to tell whether something is right or wrong or whether something is true of false?

4. What would you say to someone who asked why it is wrong to lie?

5. What would you say to someone who asked how you know heaven is real?

6. What would you say to someone who asked you how you know Satan is real?

7. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe Christianity is true and other faiths (such as Mormon, Jehovah's Witness, and Islamic faiths) are false?

8. What would you say to someone who asked why you attend church every Sunday?

9. What would you say to someone who asked how you know Jesus truly was God and wasn't just a great prophet?

10. What would you say to someone who asked why you are a Christian?

I know I would be at a significant loss of words. At least right now. I want to change that.

To leave you with a thought, how about you, how would you answer?

An old, stooped man of a shuffling gate advanced slowly down the shelf lined hall. A particularly bushy and greyed mustache took up a prominent stature, this was topped by tired, but clear blue eyes. The wrinkles on his face rolled over each other, but the look of the face was friendly and laughing. He sat in a cushioned chair, settling slowly. He sat, seemingly motionless, unyet, he was not, for his eyes followed the small children as they scurried about the shelves, his face creased by a smile of appreciation for their activity and his peace. He sat for about an hour until he unhurriedly made his exit. He carried no books, and no evident benefit, but for the far away look on his face as he traced back through the memories of his childhood, his siblings, then later his own family, and even after that, the grandchildren. And now the children at the library.


I saw this man at work, obviously, and though was unable to talk to him, observed him most of the time he remained there. That which I would not know from his looks is obviously a ficticious add-on from my imagination, but it is quite interesting to think of such, in such a way.

What's the point?

I pretty much always ask that question. Maybe its because I'm a lazy bum and I have to have a reason to do something. Maybe its that I'm wondering where it will take me. Either way I think that if I trusted than I'd be able to do something without asking 'what's the point of this?'

Its really makes you wonder.

What I found especially disheartening today was talking about something that I'll have to do in two years, something that seems impossible right now. Something I'd crazy to attempt at this point.

Sitting, Waiting, Watching (wishing).

Beware sarcasim and brutal honesty

Well I last blogged on the 21st of September. Makes me feel guilty for neglecting it. Arn't you supposed to use the Internet communications (MSN, blogs, facebook, etc) as an aid, not a crutch, or a necessity? I guess that's sort of a question that I already know that answer to. That's really why I'm off Facebook for October (Keith's idea). Still I feel the need to 'stay connected' over MSN.

I'm doing too much. But I'm not doing enough. And I've totally just like, right out, cut down my schedule by like 2 events a week. If I just didn't have to sleep, then I'd get everything done, oh yeah, plus my goal to look like a raccoon.
Last night I went to the Rockton Fair. I don't regret using the time that way. I met some pretty awesome new people, and hung out with some old (hah) people. Than why am I so resentful towards losing the time. Maybe I want a full day to work, plus of course, a few hours to socialize, and then a full nights sleep. It just doesn't work that way. The day is perfect in length the way God made it. That's another thing, I believe about God making everything, and being like this intensely loving guy (excuse the term, it was for lack of other), but, I don't really feel personally connected to him. In fact I don't really think I fit under the term "Christian". I seriously don't like that, because I'd rather, but really, has it come to splitting groups in labeled columns by evidence of their actions? ...I don't even like the term Christian, because though it does define a certain group, they're all amazing individuals, they shouldn't be stuck in a group. I don't know how to explain the whole labeled thing, but if you ever thought about it (which I didn't until one of my best friends made me) you can't be in the box (or or the term), unless you acknowledge it.

Brittni, you need to read 'Growing Up Christian' by Karl Graustein, so we can talk about.


Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy. And lonely.
I have to do Art, Math, and Science homework this evening.
No one is home.
My parents are a at Gaither's concert (ohh goodness, VERY abnormal).
And Kathleen is babysitting.
And I'm sitting here with this little ache in the pit of my stomach saying "come back!"
It used to

Art. Two point perspective, Tonal Rendering & the Proper way to make railroad ties (the most annoying exercise on the planet).


For love - we'll give it a shot.
Whooah, we're half way there.
Whooah livin' on a prayer.
Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear.
Whooah livin' on a prayer.
We've got to hold on to what we've got

I think I'm going to go talk to God. And listen to that song. I like it.

lonely

i double dipped my carrots, i blasted my music until my ears hurt, and there was nobody to tell me not to do it.

i'm tired of being lonely, of being alone.

i wish next week would hurry up and get here.

Picture me, a 5 year old. Its winter, I'm wrapped up in my winter clothes along with wool mitts and a pink wool hat. It's still winter cold, but recently the snow had a great melt down. The snow-turned-water washed the dirt into great puddles of mud. There are five of us children. Angela-8, Jay-7, Kath-7, Randy-5.5, Rach-5. We're at the other kids' family's farm. A simple affair of a dirty white farmhouse, a faded red barn, and a driveshed clustered around a grassyard containing a playground and yardshed. The buildings are bordered by a road at the front and two fields on the sides, but most importantly, backed by a narrow dirt lane, a curving path towards a looming wood of children's fantasies.
It was down this path that the five of us traipsed. All in winter attire that was much too baggy, but fit the purpose. The woods grew in the distance as we walked on. The trip down the lane seemed to be taking near to five times it should. And as I recall, the stride I now walk with swallows the distance in a quarter of the time. The bend in the lane appeared just below the dip in the rutted track, and the edge of the woods stood stiff to all lookers. The woods were boardered by tall weeds laced with frost and sprinkled with snow that settled deep at their base. A moment of hesitation and Jay stepped through the snow. He sank deep, and had to part the tall weeds that dwarfed his small frame. Angela followed, wading through and breaking a trail. I followed. There was mud beneath the layer of snow that came up to my waist. Breaking free of the weeds I was into the canopy of the trees. Leaves or no, the pines smiled a warm green scent as we picked our way through the forest towards the familiar 'pond'. Squeezing through a tiny gap in a ring of tall pines we gathered by the fort, that was suddenly exposed, as we stepped into the grove. The fort was primative. Wooden stakes pounded into the earth in a generous rectangle and more closely around the edges. Long tree branches lay on the wall frame, across the top, to form the rafters. Sheets of rusted and bent metal encircled the wood stakes to creat walls, and a great blue trap, spotted by many repairs, was cast over top. The small door faced the pond, a creek's dammed surface, glassy with ice. On the other side of the pond were an assortment of swings. Ropes cast over branches, looped holes in the bottom for feet, a wooden seat, a stout stick to swing on. A log see-saw sat to the side of the pond, dusted with powdery snow.
Inside the fort were a collaboration of amusments. In the back corner were a set of stone slabs, the oven. Above it and all along the back wall was a board shelf, nailed in place, and littered with chipped dishes and rusted pots. The rest of the fort was open, though a old dart board stood on the wall, darts waiting, and a an old milk barrel housed the handmade bows and arrows.
In the weather of the season we spent our hours of innocence living in the fort, traveling along the creek's length to the sack hill, where under a cleverly hidden cavern of tree's roots housed our feed sacks. Perfect for sitting on and coasting down the packed snow hill, and boot skating on the creek and pond. After a full morning of fantasies and snowy joys we would heed the call of the lunch bell to travel out of the woods. Being infinately careful to splash in the melted mud puddles, we raced each other in short bursts that took us faster towards the house that promised hot cocoa and cheese & tuna melts for lunch.

-a story of childhood memories as related to a friend

close your eyes and learn to see

Life dishes you things you don't like

Sometimes you know there's a better place you could be

You just can't let go, and reach out again

You close your eyes and learn to see

.

All it takes is a moment of silence

But it's in this turmoil I got lost before

Sometimes I want it, sometimes I don't

I'm lost in descision, do I want more?

.

Where does this path go?

Will I like where it leads?

Am I still looking for the best,

Or am I ignoring what my heart's needs?

.

Should I be silent, should I rise up

Why all these questions, am I too fickle?

All questions, no answers

Oh dear I know this is quite a pickle

.

The fallen tears dried long ago

While others still live without release

I don't want to remain, I want to move

Please let me self, please

.

A war within, a war not of two

Nor three, or four

I'd like to clean these confusions up

Without creating more

.

Brought in with the rising tide

Is the thought there's a better place for me to be

And though I reach, I don't let go

And though I close my eyes I still can't see

do ya'know I forgot to post this like 3 weeks ago....OHWELL!

I really really want to write this long post about something I've been mulling over for several weeks, the time period over which I have been unable to write, but I don't really feel like writing right now and I think that with the thing that I want to talk about I have to be...into it. I suppose having read that you will wonder, why is she procrastinating on writing about it, but I'd rather deliver it later than deliver it poorly. Man, I sound like I care! Haha, I do.





So, yeah, now that I've provoked wondering in your mind I will move on to why exactly I haven't been writing.





I've been busy. Originally it was with cramming school work that should have been completed months ago but never got finished, and once that was over after about a 10 minute break I was swept into the best week of my life. Everton VBS. A week where I was helping others, but it didn't feel like it, and at the end I came out with exactly what I needed going into it. The 'housing' was amazing, the food was amazing, the VBS was amazing(ly smooth running), and most of all the people were amazing. It was a week with a full roster and though I knew some of the girls (Jo, Lara, Sarah and the rest of the Pypker family) I was rather nervous about meeting the others. At least I thought there would be others. Turns out I was right. Leah, Robyn, and Jenna from Golden Woods...Sarah's barn. They arrived soon after I did and though as we took all our stuff downstairs there was a somewhat awkward silence we soon started talking and by Saturday's dinner were sufficiently acquainted to base a bigger friendship...I guess that sounds kind of technical but saying it simply would be we started talking and soon I soon decided that they were all pretty cool. Anyways, Sunday morning to our chagrin Jenna, Leah and I realized that in our enthusiasm to pack for the week had overlooked Sunday clothes. At least we all wore jeans. It did feel funny though. Sunday evening Evonne, Sarah's cousin arrived. Getting to know her was harder because she disappeared with Anna and nearly always stuck right by Sarah and wouldn't talk so much about herself. I really forget whether Lara arrived that evening or in the morning....but Robyn arrived that evening and Jo arrived on Monday morning. Eventually our crew arrived and according to my observations soon became extremely tight. It was actually pretty awesome because we would all walk to the church together every morning and then we would split up in crew leaders, techies, dramatic assistance, and snack monitors. We were apart but we were still working together. After the VBS day was over we would all walk back and then just hang out for the rest of the day.





I think my favourite hangout day was Tuesday when we went swimming and Leah started doing song actions under the water...which amused me greatly. The rest of the week was a brilliant yet typically unrecorded blur of happiness and fun.





By the end of the hangout afternoon(s) and evening(s) I had watched: Pirates of the Caribbean 1, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, The Holiday, and A Series of Unfortunate Events. An eclectic


Also while the other girls danced to the actions DVD I video taped. It was a thing of the moment and I didn't know how much I would love it now to sit back and laugh at them as they made funny faces at me and over exaggerated the moves.


VBS ended Friday afternoon and was followed by a hotdog lunch. After that Jo had to scoot pronto but the rest of us went to the park with Richard and Jordan. It was an interesting time, mostly because it wasn't a specified, per organised action. Interesting as in good though. Most of the girls left later that (Friday) evening and Lara left Saturday morning but due to my father's stay in China and Kathleen's recent surgery I was left until Sunday evening.



Saturday morning Sarah was at the barn working early so I stayed 'home' and cleaned up the basement room and then vacuumed and folded laundry for a bit and then went downstairs and hung out. About lunch time Bekah called and told us about a Jacob Moon concert happening that night, everyone decided to go and Sarah was assumed attendance. The only catch was that when Sarah got home at the end of her work day at the barn she was tired and slightly pessimistic about the horseshow the next day (Sunday).

It was Anna's first show and boy oh boy she schooled in her first two classes! 1st & 2nd followed by 6th in equitation trotting poles. :D. Very good, very good indeed.
Sarah's classes started at 11:30 so Anna was done and Em, Anna, and I watched Sarah as she worked out some hacking classes on Danny, and than competed in a little jumping on Music (who was a grand ole feller and didn't refuse them!). In total Sarah competed in 7 classes and revceived a, 1st, 2nd, 2nd, 2nd, 4th, 5th & 6th. And then got a Reserve Champion ribbon! I know that you're not supposed to boast, plus its annoying, but I'm doing it for Sarah, cause I'm proud of her, and I hope this somehow gets to her.

Late that afternoon we returned home (the Pypker's....home #2, anywaysss....) to a snack of (the best) Greek salad (in the world). After we hung out a bit (attempting to hang a new yarn line on her wall to accomodate her ever growing ribbon collection) until my momma and my sista decided to arrive to pick me up. After which we enjoyed a delicious supper of belgian waffles slathered in both brown sugar and syrup ( Mr. Pypker style ;D). It was a slighting sad ending to my stay with the Pypker's as I gathered together my belongings and headed home. It was SO quiet without 7 girls being everywhere at once and I found that I missed being able to talk to a variety of people throughout the day and enjoy special memories with them. Twas sad. Though I shall live as I have connected to my Everton VBS buddie's through e-mail and facebook and look forward to attending their jointed barn's next show.

So I changed my font in order to differentiate between the two bits of writing. I'm going to post this now....I must have forgotten to post it when I wrote it nearly 3 weeks ago. Cherrio!

thoughts..

Holding my breath for the end of this storm, oh God, please carry me through.
.
.
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same...
.
.
I give you my destiny,
I'm giving you all of me
I want your symphony,
Singing in all that I am,
At the top of my lungs,
I'm giving it back...
.
.
Back to black and white reality, you still have to watch what you say...
.
.
Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.
.
.
Would you be my life-line, please, its all I've got left...



I like italics. ( and friends who take the time to talk. :) )

Totally pumped!

Oh my goodness.
I CANNOT wait.

July 7th-13th
Thats in....16 days!

In other interesting news...Rachie is working extremely hard, and following suit (with Keith) will not be on msn or other internet applications such as facebook, myspace, or facebox (Rachie's Twist...) very frequently. I will be checking email and prehaps blogging. Otherwise you can call me.

Now considering in my hand, at this moment, I am holding a time bomb then I shall be off.

**Once my rush of things to do is essentially over I will be blogging...more often...or more useful subjects.**

3x

We pulled it off.
And, I had an amazing night.

Man, I love you guys! Teaching me like random skills like handlebar riding. Practically reading the "Motherly Instinct: People With Eyes Closed Crossing Monkey-bars. (The Manual)". Pretty much the entire evening was like so much fun for me. lol.

I don't really know what else to say, cause really it was totally worth it.
Three cheers for my, now, 16 year old sister!
Woot! Woot! Woot!

You see, when One only has one sibling and all the One's friends have multiple, that One's one sibling must be 3 siblings packed into one unit, and therefore is the score of 3 times the fun, 3 times the laughs, 3 times the love, etc.

On that note I shall be off.

A very tired Rachie.
(Who is almost sick of cake! :O)

one lonely set of foot prints

time is sifting off her hands

like beach sand through her fingers

foot steps imprinted, mark her road

while she walks a path where no memories linger

the terrain is bare and bleak

and she doesn't know where she is

yet she knows what she goes to seek

.

.

tears trickle down a weather worn face

as she trudges through

running yet another painful race

not living, just barely existing

all she knows is shes going on

.

.

She thinks what shes doing

will take her far away

from everything she used to love

unyet she'll never go far enough

to blot out the memories

and the pain they cause

of a family she decided to leave

.

.

She still blundering on

with a spark of hope in her heart

but the truth is she lost her real map long ago

one lonely set of foot prints

leading a trail through untread territory

.

.

You see people everyday. But you don't know what they're like. Sometimes I wish I could become that person for a day. Or become one of their family, or closest friends just to see who they really are. Some of them are so much themselves you don't even wonder about them until you talk to them for a while and learn about them, their lifestlyes and their favourite things to do.

.

.

.

.

Some of them their history is all that makes everything different. Some of them wish they'd never done things like that. Some haven't seen they're wrong yet. Some of them know but don't want to acknowledge it. Some of them don't want to admit it.

.

.

Some are so stubborn it just makes me want to throttle them. I guess then I'd be throttling myself though.

anticipation

an·tic·i·pa·tion /ænˌtɪsəˈpeɪʃən/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[an-tis-uh-pey-shuhn] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. the act of anticipating or the state of being anticipated.
2. realization in advance; foretaste.
3. expectation or hope.
4. previous notion; slight previous impression.
5. intuition, foreknowledge, or prescience.
6. Law. a premature withdrawal or assignment of money from a trust estate.
7. Music. a tone introduced in advance of its harmony so that it sounds against the preceding chord.

an·tic·i·pa·tion (ān-tĭs'ə-pā'shən) Pronunciation Key n.
The act of anticipating.
An expectation.
Foreknowledge, intuition, and presentiment.
The use or assignment of funds, especially from a trust fund, before they are legitimately available for use.

anticipation
noun
1. an expectation
2. something expected (as on the basis of a norm); "each of them had their own anticipations"; "an indicator of expectancy in development"
3. the act of predicting (as by reasoning about the future) [syn: prediction]
4. anticipating with confidence of fulfillment


Anticipation.
For so many things.

Anticipation

How beautiful the earth is still,
To thee--how full of happiness?
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory,
yet,And summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,
Of youth's delight,
when youth is past,
And thou art near thy prime?

When those who were thy own compeers,
Equals in fortune and in years,
Have seen their morning melt in tears,
To clouded, smileless day; Blest,
had they died untried and young,
Before their hearts went wandering wrong,
--Poor slaves,
subdued by passions strong,
A weak and helpless prey!

'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,
And by fulfilment, hope destroyed;
As children hope, with trustful breast,
I waited bliss--and cherished rest.
A thoughtful spirit taught me soon,
That we must long till life be done;
That every phase of earthly joy
Must always fade, and always cloy:

'This I foresaw--and would not chase
The fleeting treacheries;
But, with firm foot and tranquil face,
Held backward from that tempting race,
Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,
To the enduring seas
--There cast my anchor of desire
Deep in unknown eternity;
Nor ever let my spirit tire,
With looking for WHAT IS TO BE!

"It is hope's spell that glorifies,
Like youth, to my maturer eyes,
All Nature's million mysteries,
The fearful and the fair
--Hope soothes me in the griefs I know;
She lulls my pain for others' woe,
And makes me strong to undergo
What I am born to bear.

Glad comforter! will I not brave,
Unawed, the darkness of the grave?
Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave
--Sustained, my guide, by thee?
The more unjust seems present fate,
The more my spirit swells elate,
Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate
Rewarding destiny!

Yesterday I returned to a theatre I had been to perform at previously. As soon as I stepped through the doors I felt something was wrong and though I fought hard to escape what could be called a virtual mind cage, I couldn't. It was as though I was under attack. Things happened one after another that ripped my day to shreds for me. Anger resulting in sarcasim and regretful words were prominent. Familiar things haunted by something like seeing a dream played out. Infact the entire day seemed to be a dream. A bad one at most times aswell. Its like blundering about in a maze shrouded in heavy fog.

I really don't like what happened yesterday, and if I've any specific people, I'm really sorry.
Next drama I want to be like I wanted to be yesterday, free and enjoying the entire process. Instead I'm pretty sure I was a major party pooper. Yuck.

I'm really sorry.

faceless friend

Shadows haunted the room, lit by a low fire. A small shower of sparks jumped as a log fell. She was seated in the corner of the room, the floor was concrete, and cold. She rose, leaning heavily on the wall as her numbed ankle began to warm a little. Walking with a slight limp she reached the fire and extended her hands to the flames in the expectancy of warmth. Drawing back in surprise from the artic flames her head spun, uncomprehending of the oddity and begging the comfort of a hot fire. Seating herself back in the corner of the room she took in her surroundings, her prison walls were all doors un-yet all of them had multiple locks and bolts. All were scrawled with words, some ledgable, some even in different languages. Profanities that shocked her drew her eyes to hover upon the letters. Fascinating by how they got there, or who had done it all, her attention absourbed by them. And though the doors and writings were many soon the going became boring and giving up she went again to the fire. Reaching her hand in the flames she was greeted only by something much like a soft cloth gentley brushing her palm and fingers, a strange sensation began to creep up her hand and through her wrist this inner coolness that made her shiver and mesmerized her to the now darkening to blue flames. Something inside of her wrenched and tore unyet her eyes were locked into depths of the ashes her mind numbing at lightening pace. Sudden warmth on her back dragged her back from the cliff of black that she was reaching. Warmth enveloped her tearing her from the fire and shielding her eyes from the blue glare that then settled away again to the elusive orange flickering flames. Turning she found nothing visable, though the curtain of heat warmed her cheeks and lit her dulled eyes. Tucked within the warmth she sat and resolved herself to day dreaming. A young boy stood by the fire, back to her. She called out and though there was no sound the boy the turned. His height, build and clothing were that of a four year old, and his hair was a tousled brown. With a jerk she realized that though the upturned face was beautiful and she could picture deep brown eyes in it, that was all she was doing. The face held no mouth, nose or deep brown eyes. He slowly lifted a hand and pointed to a clean door, one she hadn't noticed before, it was without writing and though white, quite narrow. Then holding his hand out to her, she took it and he lead her to the narrow opening. In his small hand was an even smaller brass key, and unlocking it he held it open. Doubt crept through her heart and the door became even smaller. The little boy slipped through easily, tugging at her hand, and her heart as she became more and more fond him. Turmoil rained, would she rather dwell in the suddenly cold room again or follow this little guardian whose non-existent mouth laughed and smiled happyily and venture into the unknown. Finally she stepped through, the door remained open, there was escape she thought in relief as she followed her faceless friend. They passed through beautiful fields of lush grass, tall willowy trees, and daisies that bobbed on the wind. Seated under a tree the swooped steeply down, they rested from their journey. She rose and left the sleeping boy to walk to the river. Dipping a strong leaf into the water she scooped soon out and drank greedily, letting it dribble down her chin. Filling it again she returned to the boy and gently waking him gave him the water, mouth or no. Walking together they left the river and soon the grass on either side withered to pathetic clumbs of short croped, sunburned blobs and the trees were choked out by ugly black vines while tall weeds cropped up around the daisies. The soft turf path turned to sharp edged rocks and she thought of turning back. The pretty boy pulled her hand and on she stumbled. Thirst scorched through her throat and no matter where they looked there was no water. Mumbling through swollen lips she thought over all she had done and quickly became bitter for entrusting herself in a small boy's hands. Tearing her hand from the little boy's she stumbled backwards away from him and fell. The boy's tears though silent called to her like an accusing crow's voice. Battle of self preservation and love raged as she lay limp, gathering herself off the ground she went to him and embraced him and let him lead her on. The thirst burned in her throat but yet she still followed him until she stumbled, fell, and could not rise again. She set herself to die in the dry place wishing tears to fall, unyet none came. The small boy knelt and laying a soft kiss on her cheek he stood and walked into the distance quickly disppearing from her swaying vision. Closing her eyes she rested her head on a patch of dry grass. A deep strong voice filled her ears after so many seasons of silence "Well done my child."



Matt 10:42
"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward."

Mark 9:41
"I tell you the truth, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to Christ will certainly not lose his reward."

#1

Another first.
Another end.
On goes the line of things I've done.
Passing me by and catching me up once again.
Things have changed again.
Theres always at least one consistancy that I can see.
My friends.
Thank you to you all.
I love you.
This blog is for you!
Comment! :)
Rachie