Category Archives: Family

Climax

I came to the airport to say good-bye.

It was the climax after so many months of waiting around. . .  Waiting around while the only clear thing was the feeling of something precious slipping through my fingers.

Goodbye was our arms wrapped too tightly around each other, and it was forced smiles at each other, while the silence covered for all the things that should have been said.

I didn’t expect missing her to be so lonely.  But at the same time I’m glad that others get to have her too.

If letting her go has taught me one thing, it’s this: that she is one of the strongest and one of the most beautiful women anyone could ever know.

~*~

*My sweet sister’s safety is very important to me.  Please follow my lead, and don’t share any specific places or names in the comments.  Thank you.

Heroes and Leadership

~written winter of 2017~

Aragorn.

Where can I start?  I know I could write forever about my favorite fictional character; Aragorn has been a role model for me for a long time.  While he has been a favorite of mine since I found him in The Fellowship of the Ring, some of my fondest memories with him have come from the second book, The Two Towers; maybe the most poignant of them being his first sight of Gondor in The Lord of the Rings–and his decision to turn away from it to help rescue two little hobbits, simply out of love and loyalty.  But one memory from The Two Towers is a little less pleasant:

“At last Aragorn stood above the great gates, heedless of the darts of the enemy.  As he looked forth he saw the eastern sky grow pale. Then he raised his empty hand, palm outward in token of parley.

“The Orcs yelled and jeered.  ‘Come down! Come down!’ they cried.  ‘If you wish to speak with us, come down!  Bring out your king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai.  We will fetch him from his hole, if he does not come.  Bring out your skulking king!’

“‘The king stays or comes at his own will,’ said Aragorn.

“‘Then what are you doing here?’ they answered.  ‘Why do you look out? Do you wish to see the greatness of our army?  We are the fighting Uruk-hai.’

“‘I looked out to see the dawn,’ said Aragorn.

“‘What of the dawn?’ they jeered.  ‘We are the Uruk-hai: we do not stop the fight for night or day, for fair weather or for storm.  We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn?’

“‘None knows what the new day shall bring him,’ said Aragorn.  ‘Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil.’

“‘Get down or we will shoot you from the wall,’ they cried.  ‘This is no parley. You have nothing to say.’

“‘I have still this to say,’ answered Aragorn.  ‘No enemy has yet taken the Hornburg. Depart, or not one of you will be spared.  Not one will be left alive to take tidings back to the North. You do not know your peril.’

“So great a power and royalty was revealed in Aragorn, as he stood there alone above the ruined gates before the host of his enemies, that many of the wild men paused, and looked back over their shoulders to the valley, and some looked up doubtfully at the sky.  But the Orcs laughed with loud voices; and a hail of darts and arrows whistled over the wall, as Aragorn leaped down.” (528)

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Magic

“If you could be a fairy, what would you make?”

I smiled when my little sister asked me.  It was her way of phrasing the popular question, What superpower would you have?

“I would want healing,” I said.  “So I could just touch someone who was hurt or sick, and they would be better.”

Little sister giggled.  “Like Jesus.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “like Jesus.  What kind of fairy would you be?”

“I would be a world-fairy.  I would make fairytale worlds.”

“I’d like to visit them,” I said, thinking, Also like Jesus.

She asked what “kind of fairy” she could be that people would like.  I suggested she made food, people always need food; before realizing that was like Jesus too.

What’s the appeal of magic in fairy tales?  What if we like magic and wizards and superheroes because we’re craving something (or someone) that can set the world to rights?  Craving someone–or Someone–who can make our stories like the stories in the Bible.

I am a great advocate for magic in stories.  Not sorcery or witchcraft, or summoning spirits–not the kind of things humans do because they want control.  I’m a fan of wizards like Gandalf (The Lord of the Rings): supernatural beings working to make the world a better place.  I’m a fan of dragons like Sapphira (The Inheritance Cycle): beautiful, untameable creatures tapping into ancient power to make things right.

I believe in stretching our imaginations in ways that help us imagine heaven on earth.

Because one day that happy ending will be ours.

“I Am Groot” (and High School Biology)

Confession time: I have never seen an Avengers movie.

But if it can redeem me, I have seen one Marvel movie (which I am very grateful to have seen!) and that was Guardians of the Galaxy.  Which I loved.  Since I don’t have space, in one post, to analyze all five beautifully crafted lead characters, I want to talk about one: Groot.

Almost everyone can appreciate a good humanoid tree.  I have yet to talk to anyone who doesn’t love Groot, but really now, what’s not to like?  He is a walking, talking tree who can regenerate from one twig, whose vocabulary consists of I and am and Groot (in that order).

But my favorite thing about Groot is the way he grows.  From his habit of shooting up twice his original height to reach things for people, to the flower he spontaneously grows out of his palm for the beggar girl on Knowhere–I love the way he is simply bursting with life.  There’s a special place in my heart for the glowing firefly-like things he generates at the end.

What I did not realize until just recently was how appropriate this attribute was for a (sort-of) talking tree.

~*~

I’ve spent this school year finishing my high school biology course (“Exploring Creation with Biology” by Dr. Jay L. Wile), and I’m really enjoying it.  The latest chapter I finished was all about plants, including (of course) trees.

One thing Dr. Wile discussed was stems.  He pointed out that the stem you would typically think of as a plant stem (herbaceous stems) cannot grow any larger after they mature.  This is because they will crack the skin of the stem, and expose the inside of the plant to the elements.

Tree trunks (or woody stems), however, are another story.

Underneath the outer bark of a tree trunk is a layer called the cork cambium.  Its job is to produce new bark, underneath the old layer of bark.  This allows the tree to continue growing as long as it can and simply break through the bark, since there is always a new layer underneath.

~*~

Whether the makers of Guardians of the Galaxy were aware of this or not, I love how accurate their depiction of a “human tree” is; trees are literally cracking their own skin with the pressure of the life inside them!

Groot’s unquenchable, thriving growth is actually quite congruent with his real-world counterparts.

~*~

‘When that happens to a tree, you find that some have bad hearts.  Nothing to do with their wood: I do not mean that.  Why, I knew some good old willows down the Entwash, gone long ago, alas!  They were quite hollow, indeed they were falling all to pieces, but as quiet and sweet-spoken as a young leaf.’ (457)
The Tower Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien

Alright, we storytellers just love trees.

A Post for Pip

From December, 2016

He had no name then–at least, no one had told me if he did or not.  He had no face, no mental picture, no name.  But I knew he had a soul, and I knew that every hard “situation” is made up of people–beautiful, hurting humans beings, made in the image of God.  I knew it must become personal, because he was a real person, back then too.

So I called him Pip. . .

~~~~~

They told me, and I was shocked.  I didn’t know how to cope with this.  But I knew I had to do something; even if I just had to care.

And care I did.  I prayed–hard.  I dreamed and imagined; and I hurt–with every inch of my heart.

And I called him Pip.

Then he had a face.  And then a name.  As a matter of fact, several names.  Pip wasn’t any of them.  But that was alright; all I ever wanted for him was them.  But a piece of him will always be mine too.

And in a corner of my heart, he’ll always be Pip.

I recently prayed a friend through a terrible illness, and felt the widening rings of the enthusiasm and joy that spread from her recovery, and I thanked God and let my full heart over flow.

And I bled my heart out in a dark basement, while we watched recovery fade out of sight and felt health slip through our fingers (but not hope).  I came face to face with death and felt the contact burn sear my heart.

And then I threw myself on my knees and pleaded for life.

The answer to that prayer was no.

I don’t understand why God would spark life, and then end it so soon.  I don’t understand, but I know God is good.  In the pain, in the mystery, in life, in death, in the tears, the blood, the sweat, the fire, the storms, the brokenness.  He’s good.

And I believe He loves him more than I do.  More than any of us could love Pip.

So I trust.  And I stay; and I care, and I pray.  And my mind reels and my heart bleeds, and I feel the brokenness become a part of me; like it became a part of Him as the nails drove into His skin.

I watched the funeral on the live stream, and I let the pain soak through their saturated hearts and drip onto mine.

And I loved Pip.

He opened my eyes to a new angle of the world I had always been blind to.  He touched me, and others; and broke our hearts for a crippled world.

I’ve learned to love my world, and I’ve learned there’s nothing wrong with that love: God created us in it for a reason, and He called it good.  But it’s not really my home, none of us really belong here.

Pip’s time was shorter here, but there’s still a reason for it, and God is still good.  He didn’t belong here any more than I do, and God took him home early.

This world was not his home.  There’s a reason God let us meet him, but there’s also a reason He took him back.  This was not the place for Pip.  But in heaven, there a place for him, that’s where God knew he had to go.  A place that’s perfect.

For the little boy called Pip.

What’s in my heart about family tonight

Today, I pulled a drawer out of a metal cabinet, and accidentally ran the sharp corner into Michael’s back.  Later, he sat on my lap and taught me how to make paper airplanes.

We give and we take, and we laugh and we cry, and we cuddle and complain, we wound and we heal, and we all grow.  And somehow we do this miraculous thing called family; and I will always fight for it, because I will always believe that family is God’s heart.

throwing dirt

With all of us in China, I remember wondering if I would ever get a turn to hold my new brother.  If he had even noticed me yet.  (It’s really not my fault that big brothers are more interesting.)  Reason told me that we were his family for good, and there would be time.

But in my heart I knew that we only had for ever, and that would never feel like enough.

The rest of our lives never feels like enough.  That’s why I believe in dropping “important stuff” and playing.  That’s why I believe in loving like there’s no tomorrow.

That’s why I said yes when Mom asked me to play with Michael today.  That’s why I said yes when Little Brother suggested we go outside.

So what was going to be a lets-relax-and-read-a-story turned into bundling up and going out, hauling chunks of firewood and breaking up dirt with a metal spade.  We built a mouse-house, with logs and dirt.  We dug a hole in the ground and made a roof over it, and filled it with dill from the herb garden for the mice to eat.  Naturally the game ended with Michael deconstructing it.

Brothers are awesome.

Thank you for playing with me, Michael; and being my baby brother, even though you’re so grown up, and you’re probably smarter than me anyway.  And thank you for teaching me how important it is, once in a while, to pretend there’s no such rules as no throwing dirt and don’t run with sticks.

iHeart Writing Tag

Micaiah tagged me for the iHeart Writing Tag a while ago, and I’m finally getting around to doing it.  I’m so sorry it took me this long, Micaiah.  Also, the blog you linked to that had the rules in it isn’t showing up, so I might not do this right.  I apologize.

Anyway, here’s my short story (which is actually quite long 😉 ):

Cara’s olive green skirt swept across the grass, rustling as she walked. The arrows in the quiver at her side jostled each other with a soft rattling sound. She figured the edge of the bow she held as she took a deep breath of the warm, spring air. Butterflies swirled and danced above the wild flowers straggling from the edge of the woods; as if expressing the joy that filled Cara’s heart. Sir Stephen was holding a banquet that night in honor of the Thane of Silvestar’s visit, and every friend she had in the countryside would be there. The idea of trying to introduce Ayla to everyone nagged at her blissful mind, the only thing tainting her happiness. She hoped with Lord Silvestar there she would be excused from the responsibility.

A soft rustle near the edge of the forest fell upon her ears, and she turned toward the trees. A small hare crouched warily on the verge of the trees, its brown-grey ears twitching. Cara snatched an arrow from her quiver as silently as she could and put it to her bow. She aimed quickly and let the arrow slide through her fingers, the red feathers brushing her cheek. The small animal darted away into the underbrush and her arrow struck the ground, nearly six inches off her mark. She sighed and started forward to retrieve her shaft.

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“The Sacrifice”: Part nine

I went into the bathroom to shower last night, and found. . .

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. . . a few things in my way.  Just a few. 🙂

I thought it warranted a picture!

On a more serious note, here’s Part 9 of The Sacrifice.

IMG_2140 The Sacrifice IMG_2136

Part Ninth: Your Choice

The seventh day since the confrontation with the dragon dawned. Penelope’s first waking thought was how bright the sun was. The second was the wretched realization that she was probably going to die that day. She lay for a long while thinking. Then she got up and began getting dressed. She tried not to think about Abadalyx, but everything in the room brought dragons to mind and tears threatened every thirty seconds.

She put on a plain, white dress that reached to her ankles with a leather belt that had pictures of lilies pressed into it and pulled her hair into two braids.  She glanced across at her vanity mirror and her eyes lingered there; filling with tears as looked back at her pale, simply dressed reflection. Its expression was so despairing.

Stop it! She commanded herself, resolutely turning her back on the mirror, determined not to cry. This was YOUR choice, after all!

Infuriated by the tear that forced its rebellious way down her cheek, she smacked herself on the forehead—hard enough to make herself reel. She sat down on her bed and laid her head on her hands. Being a heroine was so much harder than she had ever imagined.

Someone tapped softly on her door. “Come in,” she called, hurriedly wiping her eyes. Henry opened the door and slipped in, looking as despondent as she felt. “Morning, Penny,” he said dejectedly.

“Good morning, Henry.”

There was a moment’s silence before he began again. “I don’t want to rush you, but are you coming down soon? Mother ordered your favorite for breakfast!” he added proudly, perking up ever so slightly.

Penelope winced inwardly, but could not bring herself to tell her brother that she felt anxious and sick, and not like eating anything—much less rich, iced pastries she now regretted having said she liked. “I’ll. . . I’ll be right there.”

“Alright,” he answered, and went out.

Penelope collapsed onto her knees as the door closed behind him, folded her arms on her bed, hid her face in them, and prayed—more for strength not to cry in front of her family than for anything else. The thought of being saved slivered into her thoughts and refused to be forgotten, but she did not dare to voice it, even in prayer.

Dream jobs. . .

A friend gave us these little cards recently.  They have questions on them, and we’ve been reading one question a day at dinner, and then all answering it!  (When we remember!)

IMG_1769

“What is your dream job?”

Some of these I saw coming, some of them I didn’t!

Becca: An ESL teacher. Oh, she already is. Mission accomplished! :)
Spencer: A computer programmer, a chemist, a pastor, or a statesman.
Me: An author! :)
Lucy: A bridal shop owner.
Michael: An "ice cream cooker".

Priceless!