Brittany's Creative Corner

Rwanda!

2011-06-20T16:12:00.000-07:00

Hey all!

Apologies on my negligence when it comes to updating this...the past year has been kind of insane but so very awesome at the same time. God is truly good, and during these past few months, He has continuously revealed His loving grace and guidance to me in many areas, including the area which this post concerns.

Last year, I traveled to Ethiopia and Uganda with Visiting Orphans to reach out to the people there and bless them with God's love. My whole team, however, would most likely readily agree with me if I said WE were the ones that came away blessed. We might have changed their lives by giving them the Gospel, but the African people most definitely changed our lives tenfold as we experienced poverty many of us acknowledged in our heads but none of us knew poignantly in our hearts. The sick, the dying, and the orphaned were a daily sight. Dirt roads, houses smaller than our bedrooms, children left to fend for themselves on the streets, fighting for survival in a world plagued with hopelessness. But among the ashes of a world scorched by destitution, we found a well brimming with with an emotion none of us expected: joy. Joy that defied all circumstances. Joy that decried the supernatural love of Christ. Joy that grasped our hands, that skipped down muddy alleyways with us, singing of the ultimate joy; knowing the Lord Jesus Christ as Savior. In all of the years I have spent amidst piles of riches, I had never found true happiness in anyone. It's ironic then, isn't it, that I discovered it in the faces of school children who have almost no hope of escaping the poverty cycle, in the heart of civil war-torn Uganda, and in a believed to be cursed Ethiopian community, where AIDS is a common household guest and the trash dump is the local grocery store? My heart broke for these people. I think God worked just as much in me as He did through me. I spent many moments afterwards longing to be back in Africa, which I have so fondly dubbed "the home of my heart".

For awhile, I feared I might never return, even though I wanted desperately to do so. If any of you have traveled to another country and have experienced what it's like for any significant amount of time, you know what I mean. You're experiences just don't go away. Everything you saw that opened your eyes to a broader picture of reality fastens itself in your memory , leaving an indelible mark on your being. You not only want to go back. Sometimes, it feels like you simply HAVE to go back. Often, that's how I felt with Africa. Unfortunately, I was about to be going off to college, so I didn't want to try to suggest fitting another mission trip into the budget. But then my dad (aka Mr. Financial Planner Extraordinaire) pulled an unexpected and asked (three times to be exact) if I would like to go to Rwanda this summer. And, well...need I mention what my reply was :)?

But there was a problem. I felt for some reason that the trip was, well, a little more incomplete than the last one. Before, I was fine with just going by myself, and even though I would have done it again this time if I had to, I had inkling that my mom was also supposed to be going with me. I don't know why...it just felt right. And then we started receiving all these signs. My dad said she could go. Our team manager randomly asked her if she was interested. That same day, plane tickets (which had just raised the price a ton) fell back down to just $300 more than mine (which was pretty good, considering this was several weeks closer to the actual departure day). My mom has had a huge heart for Africa ever since I returned home last year, even though she has never been. So when she announced that she had booked tickets for herself, I was overjoyed that she would finally be able to experience firsthand what God is doing in a land that we have both come to love!

I praise the Lord...He has been sooo good to us! We leave in two short days (June 22nd), and I still simply can't believe I'm going back to the home of my heart, and that this time, my mom's coming too!!!

Well, better go!

Love,

Brittany

Day 2, June 27th, 2010

2010-07-17T14:51:00.001-07:00

I peered out of the window at the fast-approaching ground soaring upwards to meet the wheels of the plane. The darkened skies gave way to twinkling city lights. Amazed, I looked down at them, drinking in the wonderful sight of a city I had spent so much time waiting to see, to live in, and to explore. And now, here it was before my very eyes and almost beneath my very feet.

Applause rose from the crowd as we touched the ground. After 15 long hours, we could finally depart the enclosed four walls and walk upon solid earth again! Eagerness burst over me as I realized this was it...we were in Africa!

Allow me to back-tradck a bit. On the previous day, I arrived at Washington/Dulles airport. Unfortunately, United Airlines dropped me off at gate A2, and when I went to find my departure gate on the big screen, I couldn't see it, so I called Mom and Dad. Thankfully, they were able to inform me that I was departing from gte D23. D.C., however, has one of the most complicated transportation system I have ever seen; I got in at 3:42 and didn't get to my gate until 4:28 at least. Luckily, one of my team members, Sam, noticed I was wearing the shirt that Adam, another team member had designed and falgged me down.

We had a 4 hour layover in D.C., in which time Jesse, Donnie, and Chris checked us all in. Ethiopian Airlines, however, ordered that we only have one piece of 15 lb carry-on luggage, so everyone had to check his or her larger carry-on.

Thankfully, the long trip was quite uneventful, even though it was very long. God granted a few of us emergency exit seats, so me, Sam, and Tamara had all the room we needed.

First, we stopped to refuel in Rome. They didn't let us off the aircraft, however, so we had to be content with gathering around the open doors for some fresh, Roman air. Although everything spectacular was too far away to see, we did get a glimpse of huge but beautiful Italian villas.

We left for Addis Ababa at about 1:30 p.m. and, thankfully, my body shouted, "Enough, you crazy girl! Get some sleep!" I slept through a good chunk of that flight.

Oh! And one neat thing that happened was I happened to be seated next to a guy who was also going on a missions' trip to Ethiopia, and when I told him I was from San Antonio, he said he was from Houston!

Once we had landed, we went immediately to get our visas (you get your Ethiopian visa once you land in the country), and claimed our baggage. Between 30 people, we had 120 bags filled with personal belongings and orphanage donations! God is truly good!

We had our first realization that we were in Africa when we stepped out of the baggage area. Lined up against the railing, men, women, and children stared at us as they all tried to process the sight of 30 white people and their 119 bags (Emma's got lost and has yet to be found)!

After that, we met some of our guides and loaded our bags into (and on top of!) a bus and a van and crammed as many people as we could into both. We all just fit, and soon were rolling on our way to our lodging home- the Ethiopian Guest House. Currently, there is one other family lodging with us who have three little boys. They just moved ehre from the States 3 weeks ago, and the mom had actually been on this trip in January and had decided to move here.

I am staying in room number 34 with Emma and Kim. Last night, we had quite the scare because we went to bed only to discover there was a mosquito in our bedroom! Now, of course we would never be afraid of a regular mosquito, but of course in Africa we always link them to malaria. So we got up at like 2:30, rubbed bug spray on our faces, covered ourselves up to our shoulders, and went to sleep.*

Well, that's all for today!

In Christ,
Brittany Goodrich

*I was writing this the next day because I didn't have time to finish it.

Day 1, June 26th, 2010

2010-07-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

Note: This is my trip to Africa as I experienced it day-by-day. This entry (and the series of them to follow) are as transcribed in my journal during the actual trip.

"For I know the plans I have for you..." Jeremiah 29:11.

How great our God is! To allow us such opportunities while serving Him...just that is simply amazing!

As you might guess, my dear diary, I am on my way to another missions' trip; this time, to Ethiopia and Uganda to visit orphans. I am tremendously excited to see what God will do through me and my team as we minister to His fatherless loved ones.

So...so far? Right now, I am on a plane bound for Washington/Dulles airport, where I will meet my fellow teammates at the Ethipian Airlines Gate. At 4:30 a.m., Mom woke me up and we all got ready to take me to the airport. When we got there, however, we had quite the blessing in disguise...my flight to Charlotte was canceled! This provided a momentary shock, but thankfully (as He always does) God worked it out for the better. Instead of laying over in Charlote, I was able to get on a direct flight to D.C....the D.C. layover time even got cut by 20 minutes! I was very pleased by this, as the flight didn't leave until 11:13, as opposed to the 7:00 departure I would've taken. So, Mom, Dad, and I went to Magnolia Pancake Haus to get breakfast and went to the car dealersip (Dad's idea) and then went home for an hour and a half. Brielle, Brant, and Brock were all very surprised to see me!

Soon enough, though, we had to leave. As I was hugging my dad goodbye, I almost started to cry, but Brielle and I didn't have such a grievous parting as last year. I also nearly cried when I hugged my mom at security, and couldn't talk for a few seconds without my voice quivering.

But even with all of my grief at leaving loved ones, I am filled with excitement and love for those I am about to serve. Only God could bring about the amount of peace I am feeling. He is my comfort and my strength, and my Father even when my parents are not physically there.

God, please give me the strength, energy, and love I need for these next two weeks. Knit us together as a family, for a family we are in You. Bind Satan over any part of this trip or our lives.

In Jesus' Name I pray, Amen.

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

So Why Are We Here, Anyway?

2010-06-25T13:50:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered how such a just God could seem so unfair sometimes? Why does He platce some people in wealth while others grovel in the dirt, hunger gnawing away at their wasted flesh? Why are some children placed in loving families while others cling to exhausted, over-worked orphanage nannies, whose loving efforts are never enough to nurture each child with a sliver of affection?

Surely, Christianity provides many questions! In the Bible times, people accused either the parents of a suffering person or the individual himself of a great sin. But now that we know our sins are pardoned, what is our purpose on this earth? If wealth is temporary and our family members die-if our whole existence, as we know it, passes away- what makes life worth living?

Jesus would sum this answer up in two words "Go ye...." In this we find a wonderful promise...in this we find a wonderful truth! Matthew 16:24-28 says "Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in His Father's glory with His angels, and then He will reward each person according to what he has done. I tell you the truth, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom."

See? Jesus commands us to give up our "kingdoms" for His! We are living to follow Jesus, and following Jesus involves crucifying ("taking up our cross") ourselves and our fleshly possessions!

In addition, God has a purpose for everything. None of us are accidents. None of us surprised Him by our presence, appearance, or personalities. He made us, and I believe placed us in environments where He could best grow us. For instance, if He placed someone in a rich home that had strong Christian morals, and then commanded him to give up everything and go be a missionary in the jungle, that person would, in the process, learn to rely on God instead of material possessions. In turn, God could bless other, perhaps less fortunate individuals, through the missionary. That way, the poor either financially, emotionally, or spiritually would become rich in God, and then be prepared to bless others as they have been blessed.

As you can see, God is not at all unfair. Contrarily, He blesses certain people so that through them He can bless! Whether the financial, emotional, or spiritual needs of someone is being met, He calls everyone to give what He has given so that His Name might be proclaimed throughout the nations! Keep this in mind, dear reader: We must give our lives to Him, and His work will become something worth living for.

Casting Two Shillings- Creating Characters

2010-04-25T21:37:00.000-07:00

To every well-crafted plot there is a secret ingredient that is at once both subtle and evident. It peruses nearly every page of the book, yet is so common place the reader hardly notes its presence with any diffidence. The name of this mysterious ingredient? Character.

Authors must take much care to craft their characters very uniquely. The goal is to produce a fully replete human being who, to a degree, imitates the complexity of our own persons. As the epitomes of human vices and virtues, a single conglomeration of characters must represent right and wrong, good and evil, in ways both inward and outward that we may relate to.

But the difficulty in crafting a character is making him both recognizable and unique so as to keep the reader engaged. Charles Dickens was a master with this technique. In A Christmas Carol his lead character is an unusual choice. Instead of representing right, Ebenezer Scrooge represents the wrong in this world and throughout the tale comes to realize right. Even though very few readers can relate to the extent of Scrooge's miserly ways, we can still identify with perhaps more base feelings of selfishness. His life tale actually turns out to be not unlike our own life stories or that of those around us. The extent of his hardenedness, however, has intrigued readers for over a century now, even though it is unlikely that very many of us will ever attain that level of blinded unfeelingness. Thus, Dickens gives us a touchstone of sorts when telling Scrooge's tale so that we may easily relate to enough of his character in order to follow his full personality throughout the tale.

In essence, this is what I am trying to do with my latest work, Two Shillings. Set in London in 1848, Two Shillings is about a ring of kids with criminal backgrounds who have escaped their confinements and are intent upon doing good and possibly righting their wrongs. They search for mysteries in hopes of reconciling themselves to the government by solving them. I have decided on the ring having five members (three girls and two boys), whose individual personalities and talents both work to aid each other and cause further complication in the plot. One is a gentle keeper of the home, one a mastermind, one a sophisticated young lady, one an acclaimed actor, and one an Irish child with a daring side. Sounds simple enough, huh? Well, tack onto each of those a criminal background with the reasons that lead to that action, and you've got pretty complex individuals on your hands!

As I write these characters, however, I am building a touchstone with each of the characters that both I and my readers might easily refer to. I accomplish this by putting little pieces of myself into their inward being. Perhaps it is some preference, such as writing or acting, or maybe it's a personality trait, such as being deeply romantic. Whatever little thing it is, I put it in the character so that he or she might savor of genuine humanity while having a life of his or her own within the pages of my book.

Struggle for State- Two Hotly Competitive Teams Take to the Ice

2010-03-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

For years, the State championship had been an unattainable dream that I held for my brother and his teammates. Looking back now, it's almost unbelievable. I can still see me and Brant, at the respective ages of seven and five, taking our first wobbly steps out onto the ice. At that time, my young mind had no idea that the sport I would come to adore so much could be played at a local team level. In my world, hockey was suiting up and being given a puck, taught how to skate, stop, and reach for the high and mighty goal of being an oh-so-skilled-and-powerful Blue Dot (the highest level in our First Ice learn-to-skate class).If you were super-talented, they might even upgrade you to the suave-skating mob of six and seven year olds known to us as the amazing Mighty Mites.

Back then, I never would have guessed that we could play on a team. Until the year Brant turned eight. That's when I fell in love. Every weekend I had the pleasure of filing into a cold rink cheering on my brother and his teammates with my faithful friend Maddison. Even though our coach made it very clear that he did NOT want the boys under the pressure of playing a State championship, I still harbored the hope that someday, somehow, we'd make it there.

I couldn't help but think over our hockey past, which now spans a full nine years, almost ten, of my life. It has been thrilled with highs and lows, long travels, and a thousand other things we could complain of, but me and my family have never lost the love of the game. Surprisingly, I was not nervous during the hours before the games, even though I knew that the little dream that had been born in Wisconsin and followed all the way to Texas was on the line.

We were the underdogs in the competition: Odessa was the division's number one team nationwide and second in North America. We, on the other hand, had lost to them twice and beaten them once. Mentally, Dad prepared Brant for 110% aggressive battle packed with determination and raw nerve.

We never could've expected what would happen next....

The first game arrived, and my dad and I filed into the rink. Seating area outside of the warm rooms are sparse in a Texas rink, and many prefer to stand, so we made our way to an open place up against the side of the glass.

Now, I'm a teen, so you know when music is too loud for my ears, it really is too loud.We were right next to a huge speaker that was pumping rock tunes in its old, raspy voice. I told Dad I'd probably go deaf, but he said, "It's okay." Since I saw I was getting nowhere, I decided to ignore the noise and concentrate on the game.

Sometimes, so much of a game can depend on the first score. For a few minutes, we held our breath, silently waiting for the first score. Well, maybe not silently, but hey, our hockey games are never silent.

We were down on our opponent's end of the ice. A shot....

Our players held their sticks aloft. Cowbells (a traditional hockey accessory...started in Wisconsin, maybe?) painted and stickered with our team name, the Thunder, rang out in full celebration. Dad and I screamed for joy and pounded on the glass, the latter of which hockey families are very familiar with because we use it to convey our ardent approval.

We ended up winning that game by one point, but the championship tournament was set to determine the champions by the best of three games. One down; one, possibly two, to go.

Since Odessa was our fiercest competitor, and since anything can happen in our league, Dad told Brant to prepare himself for two games. And I totally agreed. Odessa now had more to loose than we did, and since frustration had now doubtlessly topped their skill, I doubted we could win twice in a row.

The second game, we actually did have a considerable amount of seating, and the bleechers were really steep. Even when on bleechers, however, Dad and I prefer to stand, which is a perfectly good thing. I'd much rather stand than sit at hockey games. The bad news? With all do respect, my dad subconsciously rocks the bleecher with his feet, and so I had to struggle not to topple over and have to be rushed to the ER.

The skaters came out onto the ice...and the crowd erupted. Each team's fans screamed, stomped, rang their bells, hit the glass (and something much louder than the glass that I couldn't see), competing over each other to relay our enthusiastic, fight-to-the-death support to our players. It was, and I'm pretty sure I don't exaggerate, one of the loudest beginnings to a hockey game I've ever experienced.

For nearly all three periods, we battled back and forth, neither team being able to hold a dominating for an extremely lengthy time. Only minutes remained, and the crowd had not lost the enthusiasm. It was 4-4. Were these two teams destined to clash heads one final time the next day? Or would we, a team who barely mustered enough players year-after-year to play, walk away victorious?

We didn't know. And, although we love a good game, overtime is every bit as scary as it is fun.

But, wait...Eddie, our defender was skating it up ice. He shot...and a score! We went nuts...if we could only hold them a few more minutes!

The minutes passed. The countdown turned to seconds. 59...40...30...20...10...5....

0!

Those on our bench leapt the walls to join those out on the ice. The air rained helmets and gloves as our players tossed them up before diving onto our goalie in a huge doggie-pile. In the stands, we went crazy. I turned to my dad, who clapped his arms around me in an overjoyed bear-hug as we screamed our rejoicings. It seemed surreal...we had just taken State! My girlhood dream had been realized! And now, I see how appropriate the timing was, since Brant only has a few years of hockey left. It just seems right that we should have such a memorable success to top off one of his twilight years in the sport. I am truly thankful that God gave me both a brother and hockey, so that I might be privy to such a special moment for my brother, my family, the team, and all of San Antonio hockey.

We walked down from the bleechers and stood near the glass to watch the ceremonies. Mom met us there with the two kids, and I wrapped her in big hug. As Odessa's trophies were distributed to the players one-by-one, Brielle stepped up on her container of Littlest Pet Shop and banged her small hand against the glass, smiling as she imitated those around her.

"...champions of the North Texas Hockey League, the San Antonio Thunder!"

We cried out in victorious shouts and filed onto the ice with our cameras. After the individual trophies had been given out, our team captain was presented with the most massive trophy I have ever personally witnessed a junior hockey team win. He skated towards his teammates, and they gathered about it and held it high above their heads. We shouted again, and continued to do so throughout the next twenty minutes or so until my voice was pretty much gone.

Allow me to end by saying that hockey has been a crazy yet remarkable journey for me. I couldn't be prouder of the Thunder, and God has truly blessed me with the opportunity to be there at their every game and watch how they have progressed through the years. I'm sorry if this is a bit lengthy...it took me over an hour to write ;), and I know the emotions might feel a little fabricated. I want you to know that they're not, and I truly have a deep love for the sport of hockey.

Is American Culture Endangering Your Spiritual Life?

2010-02-16T15:24:00.000-08:00

"Jeshurun grew fat and kicked; filled with food, he became heavy and sleek. He abandoned the God who made him and rejected the Rock his Savior." Deuteronomy 32:15
Allow me to begin by introducing to you a young woman from Brentwood, Tennessee by the name of Katie. Katie, according to American standards, had everything a teen could want; she had rich parents, lived in a nice house, drove a cute car, and got dates. But it was not what God wanted. When she was seventeen years old, Katie felt called to go to Uganda. Knowing that she was only thinking short-term, her dad dropped her off at a safe mission institution, where his daughter could fulfill her call in Uganda and return home in one piece. When she did return, however, Katie horrified him with the news that God had called her to Uganda to live perhaps permanently! Thus, this courageous young woman set out for the impoverished country of Uganda with God as her compass, striding into whatever adventure there awaited her.

And what an adventure it has been! Still in her early twenties and not yet married, she is raising 12 or 13 (I forgot which it was) children she adopted as her own and feeding about 300 other little ones twice daily. In many different ways, God has already used her young life to bring Himself to the people of Uganda. She gets frustrated sometimes, yes, but keeps in close touch with God, Who, through signs of his approval, has shown her that she is exactly where He would have her be.

When asked if she ever feels threatened in a place such as Uganda, Katie answers blatantly that she believes America is the more dangerous place, with the souls of sinners masquerading behind our never-ending cycle of strive to obtain, obtain, become unsatisfied, and strive to obtain again. She thinks it suffocating to live in a country which so hypocritically seems to gain happiness through material items instead of God.

Many Christian Americans would protest to the aforementioned remarks, arguing that it is equally difficult to follow God no matter where one is, and perhaps also that God is the number-one Thing on their to-do list, so they are finding the most happiness and satisfaction from Him that they can. But if we truly examine ourselves, do we find this to be true?

When I was in Guatemala, many "trials" worthy of a modern American freak-out occurred: it rained all the time, I was almost never warm, the roads were slushy and made my feet dirty, one of our hotels didn't have water daily for almost the full day (which meant no showers), my outfits got washed twice over three weeks' time, full vanloads of us nearly died several times driving on the mountain passes (which really taught us to pray), had to wash our hands in the same water the church-dwelling families brushed their teeth, washed their clothes, and did the dishes in (hand-sanitizer serving as our only soap), and I could go on.

And yet I consider that trip the best experience of my life. From Ester's hearth-side meals to K'anjob'al lessons, the little girls in the pew behind me singing out to their heavenly Father to the joyous singing we enjoyed within our own circle. We never argued, and, in a short span of time, we became a family to make up for the ones we had left behind. We were given a tri-cultural experience (Jamaicans joined up with our team in Guatemala City). And, surprisingly, though I had left nearly all my earthly treasures at home, I found myself spiritually blossoming as I relied on God for the necessities I lacked.

You see, as the verse mentioned at the top of this post says, we become spiritually obese if we allow ourselves to chase after the things of this world. No matter what we might think, theybecome our gods, not God Himself. It is an interesting "coincidence" that I grew closer to God than I have ever been while still deprived of modern American household posessions, is it not? Or perhaps Katie is right, and America's self-absorbed habits are spiritually stagnating the growth of believers.

Where is God?

2010-02-05T22:30:00.000-08:00

I can see them now, trapped beneath the rubble. Conscious for days but unable to move. All around them, they hear the noises of others being pulled from similar predicaments. They try to scream, but the sound is silenced by the wreckage. In breathless patience, they hope that they won't have to be under there for much longer. They think of their families and wonder whether they survived. Some cry out to God. Others doubt His presence even more.

In view of the amount of attention Haiti has received these past few weeks due to the devastating earthquake that ravaged Port-au-Prince on January 12th, perhaps it is a little cliche of me to speak of it now. But for the present, it provides a great example of God's great hands quietly working in the background of such razement.

Yes, it's a bit hard to believe that God was involved in something as terrible as the Haitian disaster, but we must remember that the whole world is His, and He has a plan for everyone in it. I think that whether we recognize it or not, most American Christians have settled for belief in a fair-weather God. When everything is going great for us, halelujah! God must care! But as soon as our sheltered lives demand us to step out upon the raging waves, we rush to the helm, knock God out of our way, and quickly steer ourselves as far from the storm as possible, not realizing that we are missing some of the greatest chances to let God shine through us.

When people look at situations such as Haiti, it is not uncommon for them to ask themselves where God was. As Christians, we must understand enough about God's dealings with mankind to recognize His will playing out in the earth. God most likely was saddened for those thousands that lost their lives and loved ones. But He never tooks His eyes off the big picture He has envisioned for the world's redemption. He knew that, in the end, we would be better off because of it. Already, many people are hearing the Gospel as Christian survivors worship and pray. One congregation even placed benches outside of the church building for those affected by the earthquake. It is said that the glorious noise was wonderful, the wounded singing to the Savior along with those who remained relatively unscathed. In a land of death and darkness, a torch of life and light still burned strongly. In the blur of confusion, God is making Himself clear to the world.

Also, with the sudden inflow of personnel from developed countries, attention is at last being given to the financial state of Haiti, which is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. God, while drawing the world to Himself, might also be drawing us out of our comfortable slumber and awakening us to the needs of others.

We are children of God. Since the Bible commands us that we are supposed to strive to be like Him, we are obligated to carry out His qualities in every area of our life. This does not exclude looking at the big picture, or, in our case, looking for the big picture. Only then will we be able to answer non-Christians (and ourselves!) with truth when confronted with the question "Where is God?"

Excerpt from The Blood of the Lamb

2010-01-31T22:25:00.000-08:00

Note: So I thought it was about time I posted another one of my excerpts. The book is still the same one as I previously posting from. This one is slightly lengthy and probably a little rough in spots, but it'll be in shape soon enough! Anyway, enjoy!

The scent of roasting deer steamed from the carcass simmering on the spit. Smoke curled into the air, marring the starry, flawless presence with its black eminence. Stomach growling as he turned the juicy hunk of meat, Castor glanced through the flames at his companion. She sat, hand tucked neatly beneath her chin, leaning forward eagerly.

Slowly, the boy released his breath, rubbing his red, chaffed hands near the hearth. Casting his eyes away from hers, he concentrated absently upon a diminishing branch, watching its once-vibrant life perish completely beneath the merciless fire.

The juicy fat of the deer hissed as it simmered down its side. Jerking, Castor pricked the darkening hide with the tip of his sword. Like butter, it slipped into the innards, releasing a steady stream of smoke. The scent of fresh, sizzling meat steamed out with it, permeating the air with its mouth-watering temptation as Castor peeled back the skin. Healthy, brown flesh grinned back at him with faint glow.

Withdrawing his weapon from the animal’s side, he removed the spit from over the hearth and braced it between his legs. As he rummaged along his belt in search of his knife, he caught Arrenia’s expectant gaze. Quickly, he averted his attention.

Gahh! Cut himself on that stupid blade again!

Smearing his bloodied finger upon the hem of his shirt, he extracted the bothersome knife from around his waist and set it upon the waiting meal-to-be. Shaved hastily off the bone, chunky slices of meat tumbled one-by-one into the young hunter’s callused hand.

With a haphazard toss over the flames, he threw one to Arrenia. “Here. Eat. It might be a while before we have a good meal again.”

Sinking her teeth into the recesses of the fleshy dinner, Arrenia allowed the delicious tenderness to erupt in flavor upon her tongue, chewing mechanically. Not for a second did her eyes leave her companion. She set her portion aside. “You know, Castor, there’s no reason for us to hide anything from each other.”

He continued to saw away at the carcass. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward. “We are on this journey together, Castor, whatever it is. I told you my dream.”

He sighed, resting the half-hacked hunk of meat gently against his leg. Slowly, the knife slipped from its cleaving grip and hung limply in the mid air, reflecting in its blood-stained sheen the spitting, cackling flames. Rising and sagging with breadth of a sigh, his body wrestled with the weariness threatening to overtake him. He ran his thumb and middle finger over his eyebrows, methodically massaging his tumultuous thoughts into order.

Why, oh why, now?! he wondered.
“Castor?” Arrenia said, her voice riddled with concern.

The boy sighed again. “Hmmm?”

“Is everything all right?”

Mustering whatever courage he could salvage from the wreckage of his mind, he dragged himself to a more erect posture. Arrenia’s lips parted slightly as she saw sleeplessness’s indelible lines encircling his eyes. For the first time in the entire night, he held her gaze. “You must understand, Arrenia, that many things have changed this night. Our future is uncertain. Nothing may ever be right again.”

He held his breath, watching her smooth, delicate face for some indication of emotion. Illumined by the fire, it surfaced softly from the dark abyss, shining in its fragile innocence yet strengthened by a courage beyond compare. No expression of happiness adorned her features, yet neither did oppression nor discouragement. The vulnerability of a woman graced her every move, yet the determination of a man palpitated in her heart. Even now, her jaw dangled slightly agape, as if she was already drinking the cup fate had placed in her hand.

He burrowed his brows. “You are not afraid?”

Running a dry tongue over her lips, she hung her head, employing her hands in the mindless caress of her food. “We must make the best of the future.”

His heart skipped a beat. Had the world ever seen a girl with so much tender resolve? With so much reserve and yet so much passion? With so much of the essence of life itself? Even enough to throw it into this journey, without even thinking twice! His arms ached to hold her. His heart longed for her own.

But sweet serenades and expressions of his growing adoration would have to wait. She was a princess of Lydacia. He, a prince of Sleyvink.

What an ironic coincidence, he beamed to himself, that we, politically sworn enemies, should here be unified by such unusual circumstances.

Bending down, he tossed another stick into the flames, trying to redeem its dwindling embers enough to warm the chill shivering within him. The night wrapped about his being like a cold blanket as a slight breeze rustled the peace of the glade. Jumping sharply back into life, the fire first embraced, then consumed the new source of life sacrificed to it.

Releasing his pent-up breath, Castor abandoned his seat. Arrenia sat up, confusion knitting her brows as she observed him. Darkness hid him as he walked farther away from the glow of the hearth, shrouding his actions in a black veil of mystery. As the seconds drew on, her pulse accelerated.
“What are you doing?”

No answer.

A small tingle tantalized her spine. Her skin prickled with premonitions as the boughs of the trees began to slowly dance in the wind’s hypnotic sway. Clamorously, half-formed hypotheses churned in her brain, each raising its vociferous cry above the others. She covered her ears, but the rain of incessant suppositions only drummed louder upon her mind.

Oh,, why am I here? Why did I come?

The mare was slumbering blissfully when Castor approached her. Inserting his hand carefully into the sack she carried, he groped his way around the vast recesses of the canvas bag, his touch alighting upon one unseen object after another. Disturbed, the creature shifted her weight around and snorted. Tenderly, Castor ran his fingers down her soft, silky neck, whispering comfortingly to her in fluent Sleyvinkian.

“Nytok sino nar, yin lint unik. Ogek ta peel.” The night is fair, my little one. Go to sleep.

Blinking, the animal stared back at him before bringing her head to rest upon her hooves once again. Castor patted her back, saying to her as he returned his attention to his previous search, “There’s my little lady.”

Moments passed by, the precious minutes of the night beginning to slip beneath his fingertips. The boy risked a glance up into the recesses of the zenith. How much longer did they have until dawn? Merrily, the starry hosts winked down at him, giggling at his imploring wonder. Flaunting their glistening, silver robes, they snickered between themselves, as if they received gratification for keeping the answer just out his reach.

Deftly, Castor yanked ajar the mouth of the bag, allowing these playful children of the sky to be of some use and cast at least one enlightening ray into the depths of his confusion. A glimmer caught his eye. Reaching into the sack once more, he followed the canvas wall downward just a bit until elation seared up his arm. He grabbed the two halves of the medallion, returned quickly to the fire, and lowered himself upon the arboreal stub.

“So?” Arrenia pestered. “What were you doing?”

He held up the separate objects, so that the light of the hearth would fall upon them. Gasping, she jumped backward, gripping her seat until caps of white hallooed her knuckles. The color drained from her countenance, turning her lovely, vibrant cheeks into gray, ashen wastelands.

Without uttering a single sound, she rose. Taking short, tentative steps, she approached her partner, the two golden objects never leaving her sight. She kneeled to the ground, bringing them at eye-level with herself. The words coherent enough to escape being snagged in her throat perished upon her tongue as her mouth dropped open. Cautiously, she stroked their shiny, flawless surfaces. She shook her head.

Two medallions, almost identical in every way. Two halves of the same medallion. Seemingly made for one another, the jagged lines corresponded directly. Where one ended, the other began.

Two halves of the same mystery, she thought, sliding the pieces into each other. A perfect Lamb. Two halves of the same puzzle.

She looked at Castor. “Where did you get this?”

“In Sleyvink, we have an annual sparring tournament. It is a rigorous test; a true test of manhood....”

“And you won?”

He nodded. “ ‘I was informed in a dream to give it to the one who conquers,’ the man told me. ‘Run and find the girl. The prophecy…is you.”

Arrenia grasped his knee. “But what does it mean?”

Slowly, he turned his head towards her. Eagerness waltzed with fear upon the radiant ballroom of her expression. Moonlight gently flooded the glade, lighting every object with a fragile glow. As if about to snap beneath the pressure of the nearing future, the whole earth seemed to tremble.

Embracing her dainty hands with his caressing grip, he looked affectionately down at her. She started slightly at his touch, but then relaxed under his gentle care. In one moment, he smiled. For this last instant in time, everything seemed perfect.

But only seemed. There were still a thousand woes to be crossed, a thousand atrocities left to tell. And all in the breadth of a single night.

His smile vanished.

Arrenia tightened her grasp around his own. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

He tapped his foot. Finally, he said, “Oh, Arrenia, how can I tell you this? It will change everything you’ve ever known. It-”

She laid a hand over his. “I’m ready for it, I promise.”

Gulping, he sucked the oxygen into his lungs. “It’s about the medallions. You and I are…well…fated to be together.”
Little furrows ran into her brow as she cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

The fire tossed estranged rays of light upon the boy’s countenance, his features dancing in and out of the shadows. Lapping at the air, the tongues of flame drank the atmosphere into a breathless silence. As soon as it surfaced, cold sweat tingled Arrenia’s skin, bathing her in its aroused waters. She shivered.

Dragging the precious oxygen deep into his lungs, Castor said, “Arrenia, what if we’re more than we think we are? What if someone, generations before the birth of our grandfathers, foresaw our being and foretold our futures?”

Her fingers coiled themselves around his, the cold sweat of her palms bleeding onto his own. “Castor, don’t frighten me.”

Sweeping a stray piece of hair away from her countenance, his fingers lingered, caught in the thickets of her lovely tresses. “It’s the truth, little maiden. Like it or not, someone has predicted our existence…and installed our fate.” He searched her face. “You have a thousand questions. I see them in your eyes, and I wish I could answer them…Oh, Arrenia, so much is left unsaid! It troubles me greatly. I want to protect you, yet the road is perilous, and the world is against us. I am only one man. How can I live up to the responsibility?”

Her lips vanished in a thin white line as her brain slowly gnawed upon this information. Removing her grasp from his own, she laid her hand on his cheek, wooing his gaze back into hers. “No man can stop a warrior who sets his mind to the task before him.”

The stress burdening his countenance evaporated like a veil of mist shrouding his face. Water droplets glistened in his eyes almost as quickly as he could blink them away. One or two even cut meandering paths on his soil-laden cheeks. Sniffing, he smeared them away, struggling to maintain the stability of his voice. “Thank you, Arrenia.”

Without replying, the girl took up his half of the medallion, watching the light snag different facets of it as she turned it slowly. The golden surface shone with a brazen polish; not a spot marred its beautiful complexion. The glowing illumination emanating from the hearth playfully extracted the tiniest details from the shadows of intricacy, revealing their hiding places.

She allowed her fingers to gently brush its fine mounds and valleys, tracing every element in speechless wonder. In the center, the face of a lamb stared back at her. It’s shallow, sculpted eyes stared back at her with a depth that escaped the skill of any artist she had ever seen. Certainly, they seemed to truly seek her own. To capture her with the spirit of their penetrating gaze. To draw her in and hold her fast, perhaps never letting her go. She stared at it, marveling at the mystery set before her.

“So delicate and lovely,” she said, almost to herself. Then, turning to Castor, “What do you think is the meaning of it?”
Castor braced his elbows upon his knees. Distance glazed his eyes as he stared off into the flames. Rocking slowly, he rubbed his coarse clothing gently, subconsciously trying to ward off the chill that was settling in. A breathless moment passed….

Like standing upon a precipice, about to fall, thought Arrenia. Though she had no tangible proof, the sickening knot of premonition wrenched her stomach. Already, she could feel herself falling through thin air, hurtled from the cliff by a cruel hoax of fate. Already, the water below drummed in her ears. And then…the impact. Cold liquid rushed over her, filling her mouth, her nostrils, saturating her very being as it enveloped her in the cool clutches of darkness. And rest. Rest forevermore from this world that had wronged her so. No more Lucrious, Isabel, and step-mothers. No more hurt, no more loss, no more pain. Only darkness.

Finally, Castor wedded his gaze with hers. Solemnly, he began to speak. “Arrenia, this may not be what you want to hear, but listen. The fate of our countries, the fate of the world, rests on our shoulders. You and I will be embarking on a journey. I do not know the details, but I do know that we will be hunted, perhaps even killed in the process…You tremble.”

“I’m scared.”

Her voice cracked into the deadly silence which surrounded them. Castor sighed, leaning in closer and trying to keep her steady gaze. “We can’t shy away from fate, Arrenia. Look,” he cupped his hands about hers. “These medallions bind us together, and together we will stay. I will make sure of it. On my honor as a warrior, I will make sure of it!”

For a long minute, she looked into his eyes, the words wiped from her mouth. True sincerity ran through his fingertips, electrifying her with its simple purity. She sat back, smiling to herself, content to be in his embracive presence. Suddenly, she threw her arms about his neck and felt with sheer joy his arms slowly wrapping about her.

“Thank you, Castor,” she said.

Pushing her softly away, he glanced upwards. “Ahh, but look how the sky grows light!” He rose. “We must hurry little maiden, if we are to reach our destination before sundown.”

Picking herself up, Arrenia scooped up the dirty plates. “Where are we going?”

Castor went over to the mare and gently dragged her to her feet. “To the home of an old and wise friend. If anyone will be able to tell us the full secret of the medallions, it’s him.”

Wait for the Sun- a Tribute to Haiti

2010-01-26T19:58:00.000-08:00

Weeks ago, the small island of Haiti was hit with a disaster that shook the world...a 9.1 earthquake, centered at Port-au-Prince, the nation's capital. In a single day buildings crumbled, the national palace, and, in the words of the first lady, Port-au-Prince was "...completely destroyed."

More devastating than the loss of the city, however, was the loss of life. Conscious and unconscious, living, breathing people are trapped beneath the rubble. Amputations of trapped limbs is becoming a common practice. 200,000 people are suspected dead, thousands are wounded, and with the collapse of a hospital? The Haitians are in need of much medical help.

Thankfully, the world rose to their rescue.From all over the world, doctors are flying into the country with medical supplies, orphan children received expedited passports to come to the United States and either meet their families or be put in foster care, and even ordinary people leapt at any chance they got to raid their medicine cabinets for anything they didn't use and/or donate money.

And yet, because of her previous financial afflictions, Haiti will take a long time to rehabilitate. We must remember to always keep the Haitians in prayer, that God would protect them and be with them, and shine brightly in the midst in their darkness.

It was with this mindset that I wrote Wait for the Sun, which emphasizes our need to hold out for the better times ahead during hard times, and the assurance that God will be there for us. Enjoy!

When the earth shakes,
And your whole world breaks,
Will you be crushed by the insanity?

When the bright day ends,
And the darkness begins,
Will you surrender to reality?

Well, don't give in,
At least not now.

There's a day ahead,
Without any clouds.

Chorus

Just wait for the sun,
For it will shine,
Upon the earth anew.

And it will smile,
With the sweet sign,
That God has not forgotten you.

So hold on now,
Though the day is done,

Hold on now,
And wait for the sun.

When the four walls,
You're livin in,
Slowly give way,
Will you cave on in?

When the way's unclear,
Will you live in fear?
Or will you take your life,
In stride?

Chorus

When you can't see,
Your destiny,
Will faith be your only guide?

Or in your despair,
Will you not see it there?
In the darkness will you hide?

Chorus

'Cause this day ain't done,
Wait for the sun.

A Song that I Wrote

2009-12-18T21:18:00.000-08:00

Hey, guys! So I feel I need to do a little explaining on this one because it is kinda different than my usual songs. I wrote it completely without a story to back it up, but it's about a girl who just broke up with her boyfriend but can't seem to get him quite out of her mind. So please don't think that when I say the term "haunting" that I mean actual ghosts and spirits...more of an image as to how she's feeling.

In this song, I wanted to capture a bit of the feeling of Daughtry's Ghost of Me twisted nicely with the echoing, poppish break-up sounds of Kelly Clarkson's Already Gone. I love both of those songs immensely, so I was a little skeptical in attempting to make my own. By the grace of God, I got through it, however.

Well, here is my latest song, "Haunting Me Tonight". Enjoy!

When we said goodbye,
Didn't think I'd try,
To get you back one last time.

I tried to find,
Some peace of mind,
To spare me from my memories.

Chorus

So why does your stare,
Still haunt me,
With the way you looked in my eyes?

I can feel you there,
Beside me.
Why is thin air your one disguise?

Baby, you're haunting me tonight.

I look around,
And all I see,
Is the shadow of your memory.

You're in my heart,
And in my head,
Like you're just another part of me.

Chorus

I must be insane,
For calling your name,
And tryin' to ressurect the past.

I don't know what to do,
Can't live without you.
I'm trying to let this feeling pass.

Chorus

Giving Thanks to God

2009-11-27T22:56:00.001-08:00

We give thanks to You, O God, we give thanks, for Your Name is near; men tell of Your wonderful deeds. Psalm 75:1

Let's not deceive ourselves, we have a lot we can be unthankful for. The market crashed last year, many of us don't have jobs, money is precious, our families and freedoms are threatened by belligerent Islamic radicals who would rather see us dead than the world at peace,friends and loved ones dying, uncertainty as the government tries to "ameliorate" our situation with a much-debated healthcare plan...the list goes on and on. But God never meant for us to fixate ourselves in what we don't have. Rather, we were made to honor and glorify Him with everything we DO have, even if it's very, very little.

Despite the good intentions of our well-meaning citizens, I am certain that God must chuckle at our inconsistency during the holiday of Thanksgiving. To demonstrate what I mean, take the example of the average American family. Bobby and Josephine sit down to enjoy an elaborate dinner with their two children, Billy and Suzie. After a quick prayer that usually mentions the things they forget to be thankful for save for once a year, they proceed to make their way around the table as each individual verbalizes that for which he or she is most thankful. Following these traditional ceremonies, they indulge in the vast feast set before them, filling their already contented stomachs with yet more food, commenting on the dishes, and topping it all off with a generous slice of pie. Oh, and come midnight? Josephine and Suzie will forget that just a few hours before they had all they ever wanted and hit up the mall for some earlybird deals, which, of course, is furnished by the money God has put in their pockets. Thanksgiving has now become Thanksglutton.

Tell yourself no falsehood...we often fall short of the grateful, contented human beings God made us to be. Just as it is our nature to resist God in every aspect, it is our nature to constantly want more. This nature is also boistered by modern American Materialism, which has effected every United States citizen in some way. It is only through Jesus Christ that we can be truly content. We must learn throw our full selves upon the cross, and surrender our lives to Him. Only then will He be enough for us, and the things that He gives will be all we need to do His will.

It's not that I'm determined to forever oppose and antagonize the aforementioned indulgences of Thanksgiving. I realize that most are just trying to have a good time with friends and family. The harmless fun that occurs should not be shunned, and indeed if I were condemning such activities, I should be sorely guilty. But I also believe there is a point to be made here; a very fine but very important line that must be recognized. The joys of any time of year, or even any day, should never overshadow our priority to praise and give thanks to our Creator. Much has changed since the pilgrims bent their knees in thanksgiving, but that doesn't mean that our sentiments have to. The Creator we were born to glorify, and we can do this by reminding ourselves, day-after-day, of everything He's given us.

As a little tributary to God, I would like to include the things I'm thankful for:

1. God's love, mercy and salvation, without which we would have no hope.

2. My loving parents who have cared for me and loved me since my very first breath.

3. My three wonderful siblings for the laughs and good times.

4. My three best friends, Katie, Ellen, and Bekah for accepting me and loving me just the way I am.

5. My new friends at Harvest Fellowship church.

6. The opportunities I have been given.

7. A house, our safety, that I was born in America where I am free to worship God, free to be homeschooled, free to have opinions (and free to have a blog on which to post those opinions!).

8. That English has a Bible printed in its language!

9. My gifts and talents.

10. All of my earthly possessions.

Now, I challenge you to write down today at least ten things that you thank God for, even if it's just little things, and be sure to let Him know how truly privileged you see yourself as for being blessed with these things. Keep it where you know you'll see it, and every time you think of something you wish you had, remember your list and everything God has given you.

May God be with you this holiday season!

Day 18, June 23rd, 2009

2009-10-31T21:04:00.000-07:00

*

My alarm went off bright and early this morning (5:30, to be exact) to awaken me from the realms of slumbering night into those of dawning day. It being already in my hand, I pushed its little button and arose. Packing and preparing myself for the day, I managed to get everything ready before seven, when Arvid had demanded we be down at the church for breakfast.

We ate a hasty meal, went into the kitchen to thank our cooks and their helpers, and then went out in front for group photos. This was it. The time was approaching....

I embraced Ester, her arms about me as well. We hugged for a few moments, both very well knowing what this meant. Finally, I let go of her, farewelled a few more people, then took my place with those who had finished their good-byes.

As we were turning to go to the gate, we spotted Ester. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she swiped at them hastily as she hurried to her next task. I felt so incredibly sorry to be leaving her, but did I have a choice?Her place is here, with her people, and mine, for now, is with my people. It saddens me that I shall most likely never see her again on this earth, but we can rest assured that our loving Father is One and the Same, and that He has a perfect plan for our lives. And, in the end, we shall be gathered to Himself, and there see each other.

I would also like to pray a blessing over the children of Guatemala. Such sweet, innocent little things they are. I pray that God would bless them abundantly, put His guardian angels over them, bind the devil, and prosper their lives. I also would lie to bring forth in prayer the falsities of ancestor worship. God, please make these people realize the Truth of Your Word minus the extras they add to it! Oh, and the witch whose house we passed on the road, help her to find you.

That being said, I shall proceed with the events of the day. After breakfast, Hannah and I walked to the tortilla factor, but there was really nothing of interest there, so we went back to the hotel to get a few last minute things ready. The vans were here at 8:05, and got us all safely to Huehuetenango, thanks to God. We checked in the hotel quickly, then made our way to the Zaculeu ruins- which are remnanats of the ancient Maya! Upon rich, green grass rose temples, a ball court, quarters for priests, and the like. We were shown what is thoguth to be the bowl where they placed the hearts of their human victims, walked up the very steps the victims did...and lived to come down. We also saw the museum and did some shopping where I got a notebook for myself and a bookbag for my mom.

At 4:30, we gathered downstairs in the hotel and made our way to the dining room, where we met Jeff and Marille Nelson. They shared a bit about what they do- mostly train people to share the faith with others here in Guatemala. Some are trained as storytellers to go around telling Bible stories and then eliciting from their audience a few questions that probe into the story. Others are trained as pastors, etc.

We ate a long inner with them and then decided to have a pool party. More like a fool party- the water was too cold and everything much too miserable make us want to remain longer than thirty minutes.

Thanks be to God- they have internet here! That meansFacebook! I posted two status updates!

In Christ,

Brittany Goodrich

*I'm having a hard time capturing these, but in case you're wondering, the reason I took a pciture of just the sky was because it was right over where the Mayans were thought to have placed the hearts of their human sacrifices (which is pictured above it). We weren't sure where exactly the sacrifices actually took place, but I wanted a picture of the sky because it is the last thing many of my fellow human beings saw.

You are Great, My God

2009-09-20T14:44:00.000-07:00

So, this one I wrote just because...well, why not? Today is just as good as any day
to praise the Lord! And indeed, this all His work. Definitely not mine because, usually, songwriting doesn't come this easy to me. But, in our weaknesses, God is strong, and today He must have wanted me to write Him a song, so He gave me the words. It's as simple as that, guys. If God wants us to do something we know we fall short on, He will guide our words and actions so that He will be glorified and we will succeed.

This number is very slow- almost like a hymn. The ideas presented are simple...and yet I hope they embrace the broadness of our God's glory. I also believe that, as Christians, simple awe as the point at which we should always be, for God requires nothing other of us in worship than to come before Him as we are.

Here is the song:

There’s a calm, sweet surrender,
At the break of day.

Dark skies are torn asunder,
With dawn’s first ray.

And I,
Can only wonder,

Chorus
Why You gave it all,
To me.
Clothed in majesty?

To think Your greatness far succeeds,
Everything the eye can see!

Oh, You are great,
My Lord and God.

There’s a great, brand-new promise,
Upon my every waking hour.

Because Your forgiveness,
Astounds me in its power.

So let me wondering be.

Chorus

And with the twilight of the old day,
Not yet wakened ‘pon the new.

I find another reason,
My wonderings to renew.

Chorus

Oh, You are great,
My God.

Oh, You are great,
My God.

Introspect- My First Nonfiction Work

2009-09-15T15:59:00.000-07:00

The public is basically unaware of a potent yet oftentimes missing ingredient in the world of teenage factual literature. This market is strewn with would-be bestsellers written by adults who get what it's like because they've "been there". While doubtlessly any person who has grown and matured past the age twenty can truthfully say they have been through the teenage years, it does not exempt them from the question whether or not they recall it clearly enough to properly present it to the younger generation.

Above, I labeled books by such individuals as would-be bestsellers. Why do I coin this perhaps cliche term in relation to the inadequacy of their comprehension of the true subject matter? The answer is simple. It's that teens will be able to tell whether or notthe author understands what they are writing upon the same level as they do themselves. Frustrated, then, the reader is more apt to discard the book with disgust than apply the virtues to his or her life. After all, teens aren't generally expected to obey adults in the ordinary world, so why should they be expected to do so in respect with their reading?

The need for teenage authors is evident, and upon that basis I begin my first work of nonfiction, Introspect: a Look at the Inner You and Who You Were Made to Be. Introspect will be a Godly, Christian view on the inner qualities of a God-honoring, successful teen. I plan on writing it for a an audience ages 13-19, the majority of which will be Christians, but it will not be exclusive to non-Christians. It will work through issues such as confidence, inner beauty (and, for guys, the superiority of inner beauty over outer beauty), being right with God, purity,what God really says about the teenage years, diligence and hard work, the pursuit of dreams, etc.

I am extremely excited to embark on this newfound adventure God is laying before me. Being a teen myself, I have lots of questions that I often mull over in my room. Through the reading of my Bible, other books, and my own reflections on life, I have developed what I trust are considerably sound answers. With God guiding my hands, I hope to present these questions along with their answers to my peers, who, perhaps for the first time, are experiencing the same things I am.

Star Spangled

2009-09-11T13:40:00.000-07:00

Eight years ago today, one of the most barbarous atrocities commited upon American soil shattered our world. It left us grieving, bereft of the citizens we will never regain. Some of us lost loved ones- others showed a universal love by shouldering the weight of each other's sorrow. For the weeks, months, and years to come, we recalled the first blood shed from those front-line soldier- the unmerited warriors of freedom- who were not so by choice, but rather just everyday people who happened to be there. It could've been you, and it could've been me.

But it wasn't. God allows nothing to occur by accident. Even the devil has to ask His permission before setting out on his missions. We might never know why so many had to die that day, but we do know this: that God opted to let us live for a reason. With every passing second we linger upon this earth, we may rest assured that He has laid a path before us; we are not finished here yet, and He won't take us to be with Him until we are. Please, keep that in mind as you pray for the victims of 9/11 today. Pray also for yourself, that God will show you His will in your life, for, just as those innocent people arose that dark morning with no premonition of their fate, so we as well, have no idea whether or not this our last day, hour, or even breath.

The cataclysmic events of 9/11/01 catalyzed a comparatively dark lapse of time as compared to the last few decades. Within a day, President George W. Bush officially declared to the world what had been crying out of our hearts- war. And here we are today, still sitting the ruins of a war that has proved catastrophic indeed.

Since 9/11, many have argued hotly against the battles occuring overseas, saying it was too much of a loss. Others still fervently defend it, because, even though they agree upon its monstrous severity, they deem it necessary that terrorism is confined.

Whichever side you happen to take, however, I think I can rightfully say that we all look upon 9/11 as a day that should've never happened. We all feel various degrees of sadness, pity...and, yes, a tinge of patriotism and perhaps even wounded pride. In commemoration of that bitter day, I made an album that I think sums up ever Christian's view on the past eight years of our history. The song selections begin with a reminiscience upon the above stated events, and move through melodies which dramatize sorrow that has stung so many. And, finally, through it all, we pick our tattered flag, set our eyes to heaven, and, knowing everything's in God's hands, loudly proclaim, "In God We Still Trust."

Where Were You (Alan Jackson)

If You're Reading This (Tim McGraw)

Just a Dream (Carrie Underwood)

In God We Still Trust (Diamond Rio)

I have named the album Star Spangled.

Day 17, June 22nd, 2009

2009-09-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

I forgot to tell you about something funny that happened last night. Well, yesterday, we decided we had exhausted our de-chocolatized diet and so boldly set out in search of the creamy, hard delicacy. We were standing outside of a store when a car honked, summoning us to turn our heads. With the window rolled down, a young man held his cell phone up and snapped our photo as he whizzed by!

This morning, we had approximately 2 hours between breakfast and when we loaded up the van to go swimming, during which we perused some stores. I bought Brant a machete, and we visited the Roman Catholic church, where people were burning incense and kneeling in the dark interior, beseeching the spirit of a saint or ancestor. It was a sad sight to behold- people so deceived they thought they had to do this- thoguht they must seek the favor of the deceased souls in order to secure ease in this life or the next. Couldn't they see the statue of the Savior before them? Wasn't the answer in sight?

I stood there, awed by Satan's success in this place. Masquerading as the Lamb, he devours daily those souls as they bend their knees in what they think is Christianity. I had always heard of ancestor worship, but never before had I confronted it firsthand, standing helplessly on the sidelines with a vast language between me and these lost sheep. Suddenly, God opened my eyes to a gaping need- a need to reveal this deception for what it is and the presentation of the Good News.

The van finally picked us up, and we made our way up the mountain to a remotelocation where there was a pool right on the mountainside. A house was right next to it, as was a pavilion with plastic tables, a hammock, and Christmas lights. Laura tried plugging the cord in, but immediately pulled it out when she heard a static sound. However, when she inserted it into another outlset, we found that we heard not static, but a small music player rigged to play Christmas carols when the lights were plugged in!

The water was very frigid, and only a handful of us were brave enough to actually go in. Literally, Kris-Ann could not stop chattering forever and Adriana dove in and was like, "Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!" Eventually, our bodies adjusted to the temperature change and we managed a few games such as Knot and Marco Polo. A couple of us got burned, but it was really fun1

Back at the church in San Miguel, Arvid sat us down at 4:30 and conversed with us about what we'd learned on the trip. Many people brought up great lessons aobut dealing with pride, lesser-possessions, etc. But Rachel really hit the nail on the head for me when she said that depending on God was her biggest lesson. She gave a few examples, like when Abby got dehydrated in Stiquisislaj (sticky-SEE-slah), a village in which some of us stayed.

"I'll admit, I was scared," she says. "I was really scared. I had no idea if she needed serious attention or how we'd get it or anything."

Fortunately, God put it on their hearts to pray and Abby got better soon after that. Also, Rachel related something I totally agree with- trusting God on those twisty, turvy, unpaved roads where there's sometimes not even an inch between you and death.

Also, God has shown me what little others have, and how much I can do without (I went days without a shower because water availability was sporadic). It really shocks me now as I think of our culture- so upscale seems even gas stations and roads and cars. We live in a world where stuff defines success- they live in a world where success defines itself. For many Central American families, this might be as simplistic as putting food on the table. I think plunging from one to the next with only a four hour plane ride in between might be a little difficult. I pray I will soon get over it, but not forget this lesson.

Today, my primary thought is that I would like to be a more faithful Christian. I want God to teach me to depend completely on Him for everything, and to follow His lead for the rest of my life.

In Christ,
Brittany Goodrich

A Song- Not Yet Titled

2009-09-03T19:43:00.000-07:00

Today I decided I was in the mood to write a song, but we were about to leave for the hairdresser's, so I grabbed a notebook and pencil and prepared to get my creative juices rushing through my brain and out my arm. For an hour, I sat there....a big zero. Nope. Nothin'. Zilch. Not even love songs- and my late-at-night-in-front-of-the-bathroom-mirror ballads are hits, ya know :).And yet I wanted desperately to write a song.

Well, after a good deal of no productivity and yet not having the attention span to finish my Gulliver's Travels reading, I once again deemed it an honorable hour to take my writing weapon into my hand and wound the purely white page with whatever my imagination happened to barf out of its recesses.

And this time I had a theme (thank God...maybe it wouldn't be so terrible after all). As of late, I've been learning about complacency and the dangers that accompany it. Inspired by both my experience with it (or, rather, my struggle to defeat it), the thought of who God wants me to be, and Britt Nicole's song Walk on the Water, I set my pencil upon the paper...and came up with this. Tell me what you think.

What am I,
Doing here,
Starin' out the window?

Watching life,
Pass on by.
It's just another day.

Never once,
Have I thought,
Or cared about tomorrow.

It'll be gone before you know it anyway.

CHORUS

But how do I,
Even know,
That I'll live to see tomorrow?

How can I,
Be assured,
I'll live throughout the day?

Father God,
Yes, I know,
Your footsteps are hard to follow.

But I'd rather die tryin,
Than live,
This way.

How can I,
Live a lie,
And say this is how You made me?

When I know,
Deep inside,
That I was made for more?

Father God,
On my knees,
I beg You to forgive me.

For choosing to simply waste away.

CHORUS

So I'm left,
Standin' here,
Starin' out the window.

Watching the sun,
Slowly set,
On another wasted day.

And since there's no,
Guarrantee,
That I'll be here this time tomorrow.

It's time to start livin' the right way.

Yeah, livin' the right way.

Ooooooo.....

So there it is! But I also need your help! As you can see, this project as of yet needs a title, so if you could please suggest one by leaving a comment (look at the bottom of this post), that would be great! Thank you, and God bless!

My Two New Albums- Words of Praise and Bubblegum

2009-09-02T12:54:00.000-07:00

Hey, ya'll! Well, as I mentioned in the previous post, I have done a bit of fiddling around on iTunes trying to create mix cds from the music arsenal I have stored there. As of late, I have two new creations- Words of Praise and Bubblegum. Here are their synopsises, as well as the playlists:

Words of Praise-

Having grown up in a Christian home with the love of my Savior all around me, I saw it as both an obligation and a pleasureable bit of service to give back to God with music. As a result, I selected a group of songs that are amoung my favorites in the Christian genre- ones that I believe both bring glory to God and challenge us to be all we can for Him. The true Christian is one that serves God in humble reverence, always trusts Him, and never fails to follow His will. I wanted this album to reflect that.

Lifesong (Casting Crowns)

Remembering You (Steven Curtis Chapman)

What If (Nichole Nordeman)

Satellite (Shaun Groves)

Speaking Louder than Before (Jeremy Camp)

Yours (Steven Curtis Chapman)

East to West (Casting Crowns)

Revelation (Third Day)

Should I Tell Them (Shaun Groves)

Why (Nichole Nordeman)

Bubblegum-

Being a huge fan of the pop-culture tunes that blare from the radios, cds, iPods, whatever, I decided one day to create an album of all those songs. Originally, only teen pop was going to be given a home here (hence the name Bubblegum). However, when I realized that my teen pop consisted mainly of Jonas, Demi, Miley, David Archuleta, and a couple Jordin Sparks, I had to rouse my imagination in order to save my listeners from dying of boredom. And so the boundaries expanded to include some Jordin Sparks that borderlined the teen area as well as a Leona Lewis song....aaahhhh, so what? Might as well throw some Taylor Swift in there, too!

By the end, I was defining my creation as songs that had burned their way through the pricky brambles of criticism and made it to the top largely because of teen support. Now for the name...how could I adjust the name? Well, nothing was coming, and since everyone but Taylor is a pop artist, I thought, Hey, so what? Bubblegum it is, and Bubblegum it stays.

Burnin' Up (Jonas Brothers)

A Little Too Not Over You (David Archuleta)

One Step at a Time (Jordin Sparks)

Fly With Me (Jonas Brothers)

Love Story (Taylor Swift)

World of Chances (Demi Lovato)

Battlefield (Jordin Sparks)

You Belong With Me (Taylor Swift)

Lovebug (Jonas Brothers)

Here We Go Again (Demi Lovato)

Bleeding Love (Leona Lewis)

White Horse (Taylor Swift)

Crush (David Archuleta)

Catch Me (Demi Lovato)

No Air (Jordin Sparks)

A Peek Upon the Past- My Latest Hobby!

2009-08-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

The other day, my creative streak got the best of me. As some of you already know, I LOVE music of nearly all types and my iPod is literally loaded with songs, videos, and even TV shows released by my favorite artists. I've even written a song or two and would love to get my hands on some music-making computer software.

And then yesterday it hit me- I could start a hobby of burning songs that I select and carefully arrange into albums! Now, of course I won't be selling the albums and all the songs I use will be already paid for, but I thought they would be interesting just to have. Also, if you're intrigued by a particular theme, I plan to post as many of my song arrangements that I can on here so that you may duplicate my work by purchasing the songs for yourself and burning your own CD.

As usual, I already have a thousand ideas running through my head, and I can't wait to share them all with you! But, I have actually begun one of the albums, and have decided to title it A Peek Upon the Past.

A Peek Upon the Past is just that- a backward, reminiscing glance at who we once were. For this selection, I have decided upon four artists whom more or less defined the twenty years that elapsed between 1970-1990; namely, Michael Jackson, Neil Diamond, the Bee Gees, and Chicago. Last night, I went through many CDs and trialed many song combinations until I came up with the following:

Smooth Criminal (Michael Jackson)

Desiree (Neil Diamond)

You're the Inspiration (Chicago)

Stayin' Alive (Bee Gees)

America (Neil Diamond)

Hard to Say I'm Sorry/Get Away (Chicago)

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' (Michael Jackson)

Tragedy (Bee Gees)

Hard Habit to Break (Chicago)

Thriller (Michael Jackson)

Jive Talkin' (Bee Gees)

Look Away (Chicago)

September Morn (Neil Diamond)

Day 16, June 21st, 2009

2009-08-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

Yum, yum- good eatins'! Seriously it was (and, yes, that's a leaf)

Elina (left) and Carey (right)- two girls who hung out in my and Jodi's hotel room for a while

The clothes-washing station at the San Miguel church. They used something similar to this to wash our dishes as well.

Today, we rose bright and early, dressed and had migrated to the church for breakfast by eight. Ester fixed us up some oatmeal (which actually contains little substantial matter and is of a more liquidy constitution), a bit of wakash (or soup), and a handful of eggs as well as pitchers of coffee. Gobbling it down, we found a full hour on our hands before church commenced. although a cold, dreary fog dictated the sky, we made our way over to the market that forms every Sunday in San Migueal. We found nothing of interst, however, and made our way back to the church.

With a stream of people still steadily trickling in, the worship started. a few items of note here. In this service, there was no real "worship time", it was interspersed between prayers, a speech, and the sermon. Another observation is that the people rarely stand to sing, and are even less likely to clap after a song. Arvid later explained that, for some reason I can't remember, it was not considered the best thing to do.

The brothers and sisters in Christ were very welcoming to us here as well, and honored us many times with their thanks to God that we were here (from what few words I extracted from the K'anjob'al monologues).

Another great opportunity we got was to sing for them. We had prepared three songs last night, and performed them, for which they broke their silent tradition and clapped (Arvid guessed they had figured out it was an okay thing to do in our culture). We did the following songs:

1. Kal Watx' K'ane, Alleluya (a K'anjob'al song to the tune of Battle of the Republic, of which we sang the K'anjob'al chorus, the English verse and chorus, and then the K'anjob'al chorus again).

2. Txojxa swatxil kecab yetoj Dios- this was a chorus we did completely in K'anjob'al, butchering it so badly Arvid told us to do it twice because the people didn't recognize it as K'anjob'al.

3. Lord, Prepare Me- last night, we had a singing festival in Kris-Ann's room led mostly by Kris-Ann. When she and Abby did a harmony on this song, we all fell in love with it because the voices complimented each other so well. So, with Kris-Ann and Abby leading, some of us took melody and others harmony and we sang away.

Another neat custom they have is paying money to God for birthdays. Depending on how old you were, you would give a certain amount. Teh idea appealed to me, however, since God has granted us each year of life and it is only appropriate that we return thanks.

It didn't take long for me to get completely lost and bored during the K'anjob'al/Spanish sermon. The reason I say Spanish is because the pastor would switch into it at critical points in the sermon, most likely to ensure that everyone, including us, got as much out of the sermon as possible. But since I didn't speak very much Spanish either, I just ended up reading my Bible and tryng to pick up a few words or phrases out of the speech.

Then it dawned on me. We hadn't been brought to church that morning just to say we had attended- we had been brought to experience the spiritual stagnation of not having God's

Word in your own tongue. If the pastor's sermon had left me bored and uninterested, is this the same reaction we want for the Word of God amongst those who know nothing of Jesus' saving grace? We are left with two choices- translate the Bible or watch the people perish.

After that, we ate and Arvid went over some things for us to think about.

Oh, and we got to see Marie Sabet, Dorcas, and Ana again. God has truly blessed me!

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

Praise and Prayer

2009-08-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

If you had a whole life to live, what would you do with it? That's the question (in so many words) that I have been asking myself lately. After all, I will be turning seventeen in March- I'm not exactly an adult, but I'm not exactly a child either. However, I am also old enough to know that God has put me here for a reason- and that reason should be as carefully and well planned for as possible.

As a result, my parents and I have begun a search for ministry experiences that will both suit my interests and help me in my career later on. After several investigations, we came upon Bread of Life Ministries, an organization stationed out of Dallas that has an orphanage in Romania. I knew they were looking for a grant writer, but when I finally read their missions statement, I was amazed; their mission was nearly identical to my own idea of what I want to do as a missionary! I clicked volunteer and submitted my application.

Many questions flooded my mind. Would they want a sixteen-year-old? Or did they need someone older? Was this even realistic, since I am in high school?

Well, early this morning, I received an e-mail from a man at Bread of Life ministries. He began by saying that his wife was a pioneer home-schooler back in 1982, when home-schooling was something no one did. He sounded thrilled to have found this common ground with me, since I had touched on my education mode in my application. In retrospect, I thank God for giving me the words to say!

In addition, he guessed by our area code that we lived in the San Antonio region, and said that he made it down there once a month whenever he was not in Romania. Since we are 300 miles away from Dallas, he foresaw the distance as a problem for when we must exchange materials. However, since he is in San Antonio once a month and we are in Dallas at least once a month during the hockey season, I pray that all will turn out all right.

Lastly, he told me that all I had to do was send him my address and he'd send me the Grant Writing Request Packet. He asked me to watch the videos and talk to my family about it, since this would be a family endeavour that I would lead. Then, I would respond to him with my decision.

As you might discern, I was super-excited- he was practically offering me the job! God had not chosen to show him the difficulties that would arise from hiring a sixteen-year-old, but instead the benefits had been placed in his head! I am greatly encouraged by seeing God work in this way!

But if you would also pray for me and my family...that we would seek God's will in this and that God will open and close doors as needed. All of us are a little worried about the time and pressure it might involve, so if you could pray about that, too, that would be great!

Thank you and God bless!

Day 15, June 20th, 2009

2009-08-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

Woman models Mayan baby carrier

Me holding the baby

Jodi holding the baby

From left- Xamen, Ester, and Xunic

Editing 1 Samuel

Coya (the village we stayed in).

Another image of Coya

The church we stayed at in Coya

Mountain view from the church

The church courtyard where we were lodged (the second room on the far left is the room where Hannah and I stayed. Sam and Raymond were across the courtyard, which is not pictured)

Today, we rose at 6:35 sharp and prepared ourselves for the day. Ester was already in the kitchen, playing a K'anjob'al worship station while she worked to fix us a scrumptious breakfast assortment of eggs, tomatoes, peas, and tortillas. Accompanied by cups of coffee with a healthy dose of sugar mixed in, it was a unique meal to chow on.

During this time, Sam recalled something- we had forgotten to make our village map as the handbooks told us to do. Having eaten all we wanted, then, the four of us set out to trek up the unpaved path for a bit and identify our surroundings.

Before we got far, however, a man hobbled out from the shadows. In slurred English, he stammered out a few sentences, asking Sam where he lived, and then proceeding to tell us everywhere he's been in the States. Then, he shook our hands, and when he got to Hannah, he said, "I love you, Baby."

My companions were already walking, so I darted up to Hannah and asked, "Did he really just say 'I love you, Baby?"

"I think that's what he said," she replied.

By then, you could say I was a little creeped, but, thanks to God, a lingering walk and breathtaking views stole my attention and cleansed me of my fear.

He did spot us again when we were returning to the church. Having been talking to a fellow Guatemalan, recognition lit his as he called out:

"Pray for me because I love you because of this lady."

My first instinct was let's get out of here, but quite a different thought ran through my mind next. We should pray for this man- that God would open his eyes to the truth of His Word. After all, he is a person created in the image of God, drunk as he was or not, and God loves him. Will you join me in praying for this man and others like him?

At long last, the van came to take us back to San Miguel. Having crammed three groups of villages, we cozied up to one another and hung ten for the long haul.

We met Arvid at the same hotel we had left, and removed our belongings from Sam and Raymond's room, where we had moved it to minimalize the cost. Heading over to the church, we sared our stories of village life and then got to see a very neat scene- real Bible translation in live progress! Arvid had brought his correction of 1 Samuel, Chapter 1 with him, and, together with head translator Xunic, went over it with us looking over their shoulders. Explaining to us a bit aobut how this part of the translation was accomplished, Arvid spoke to us in English and answered our questions.

Next, came time for Xunic, Xamen (pastor in Coya), and Ester to share their testimonies and such (the latter two having traveled from Coya after we had left). They kept repeating how happy they were that we came and that we are one big family in Christ. Xunic even made the comment that it is uncommon for believers from so far away to meet each other, and so he was gald to ahve the chance to meet us. By the end of it all, I was nearly tearing up. We couldn't have asked God for more hospitable hosts- and He gave them to us. I stand both weakened and strengthened. Strengthened by the faith of my fellow believers, but weakened beneath the strength of God Almighty, Who brought us here together.

In Christ,

Brittany

Day 14, June 19th, 2009

2009-07-10T11:19:00.000-07:00

During our time together, the children discovered my notebook and were quite interested in it. Since I didn't want to lose the memory of this day, and to have something special form each child to look back on, I allowed them to doodle in the back of my journal, and then wrote their names under the picture. I thank God for this idea, since without it, I would probably not have preserved such a fond memory so accurately.

Sam plays ball with the boys

Itercelia, smiling for the camera as she models her barely-visible new bracelet

Mikala poses with her new necklace. This picture has to be one of my all-time favorites that I've taken.

One of my personal faves

You can walk out your door or fly around the world: there's no denying it, boys will be boys.

Hannah with our newfound friends

Mas foto!

Itercelia (left) and Candelaria (right) braid my hair (I hope I got the names right :P!)

Tres ninas y un nino (yes, Itercelia has my Bible on her head)

From left- Candelaria, Anita, and Ana

Me, Ana, Candelaria, Itercelia, Mikala, Anita, and Hannah

The girls at the washing basin

We sit here in silence, save for Raymond's humming, each occupied in our own activities. Two little boysstand outside, playing and chatting occasionally. People are beginning to congregate in adn around the iglesia, awaiting the start of the service. In the kitchen next door, Ester and her friends are busily preparing a meal, talking away in K'anjob'al as a radio sings sweetly of the wonders of our Lord.

I must say the expression of devotion to God is the most beautiful language in the world. It's universal, a joy understood in the hearts of fellow believers. In a way, it comforts me that our hosts know this happiness- it's a grace we all share- a peaceful rejoicing we see in each other.

Church has begun now, and my ears resonate with many Mayan voices singing to God. To think just a few hundred years ago these were daily sacrificing other humans. And yet here are their descendants, praising the one and only God in their own tongue. It is a true miracle for which God is to be thanked and I am privileged enough to witness.

The little girls behind me are now singing in their sweet voices. A marvelous sound. As I listen to this, the verse in Revelation which speaks of all the nations singing to God at the foot of the throne. Oh, imagine, dear reader, how lovely that will sound- sonorous song in speech separated by tongue, but united by the praise of the King!

I am back in my room now, nearly surrounded by the shouts of children at cheerful play. For about three hours now, K'anjob'al kids have been running around the girls' room, giggling and clammering for a photograph. Literally, I probably have more pictures of kids than the landscape. I've never taken so many pictures at one time in my life. If you look in the back, you can see some memoranda of our time together.

It all began with my idea to build a bridge across the language ravine and take Ana, a girl standing at the courtyard gate, to our quarters to construct bracelets. However, as I marched up the steps, I saw that there was more than just Ana at the top of the stairwell. Many pairs of big, brown eyes stared curiously at me. When I showed them the beads, their hands darted from their sides.

"Para su ellas," I said, informing the overwhelming ratio of boys to girls that these were for girls only. Grabbing the hands of two little girls, I started down to our room. The boys followed us.

By the time we reached the room, Hannah and I had four little girls with us. Using the twine packaged in the bead kit, we measured out a bracelet tailored roughly to the size of each girl's wrist. Each created a masterful adornment unique to herself, and we fastened them on. Before we knes it, we had approximately fourteen children playing in and around the quarters, the boys wrestling each other, playing soccer, and constructing odd photo poses after I showed them the playback feature on my camera.

One interesting game they played was like the Limbo except one must jump over the rope instead of going under, and one must bring the stick higher after each round.

After they went home, Hannah, Sam, Raymond, and I talked and then joined Ester and her friends by the fire. Thank God for that stove- otherwise we'd all be here with hypothermia!

Ester and her friend taught us some new wonds and then we ate dinner. We ended the night with her and the pastor, learning a few more words. I am very pleased that God made it work for Ester to come to San Miguel with us tomorrow, for I wish to know more of this language which I have given the opportunity to learn.

Well, shaquila (good-bye!)!

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

Day 13, June 18th, 2009

2009-07-08T13:14:00.000-07:00

Image from Ester's kitchen

A bit blurry, but this is Ester working at her hearth

The fire with the stove above it

A street in Coya

The outskirts in Coya

Above and below- pics of Stiquisislaj (sticky-see-slah), a village we dropped some of our group members off at.

Stuck in the mud!

My picture of Hannah taking a picture :)!

These roads- I survived! Lol, thank God!

This didn't exactly end up being such a steep drop...when we couldn't see the bottom of it, we were like "Uh-oh!" however.

Buenas tardes from Coya, Guatemala! As I speak, Hannah and I are sitting in our beds, talking and writing. We are lodged here in the iglesia, right across the courtyard from Raymond and Sam.

When we left San Miguel at about 8:45, we were told that it would only be an hour and fifteen minute drive in total, so we began to snake our way up into the mountains. Beautiful landscape once more surrounded us, rolling by with breathtaking grace. Windows open and cold air flooding in, we cut and swerved about the corners, perilously approaching the cliff many times. The vehicle rattled its complaint with every jostling bump. And, as we were maneuvering through some mud, we came to a stop.

A little boy hopped out and began to place rocks beneath our tires to induce traction. Miguel, our driver, shoved his foot upon the gas. We lurched, but then reversed into our original position.

After about ten minutes of stationary transportation, Miguel relayed through Arvid to get everyone out save those in the back. Thus, while the boy, Arvid, Xunic, and Miguel tried to sort out our situation, which happened to be that we were stuck in a puddle of mud. Meanwhile, we snapped photos and absorbed the opportunity of experiencing Guatemala firsthand.

Thankfully, the situation didn't last long. Soon enough, we were squished back into a cozy clump and took off at a moderate speed. A couple times we found oursleves having to back towards the cliff, but God delivered us safely to our villages, and we thank Him for it.

As soon as we arrived, we were taken down to the church and met a lady named Ester. She is our cook, and a wonderful one at that. Her kitchen is quite cute- old, white-washed walls with a stove heated by a fire, which resides beneath the stovetop. This fire is one of the only heaters in the place, and Ester was hospitable enough to let us warm oursleves by the newborn flames while she fixed our dinner.

Part of that dinner consisted of tortillas, which she makes by filling a bowl with ground corn, wetting it, and kneading it to form a paste. Then she picks up a clump of it in her hand rolls it into a ball. Turning it between her thumbs, she forms the circular shape before tossing it quickly back and forth betwixt her palms to flatten it. Lastly, she throws it on the stove, rinses her hands in water, and moves on to her next tortilla.

She allowed Hannah and I to help her make them, but we weren't nearly as dexterous at it as she is.

Fortunately for us, God has gifted her with a patient soul, and she sat with us for at least three hours today, teaching us her language and also a few songs to sing in church tomorrow.

Hannah, Sam, Raymond, and I are actually staying on the church grounds. The boys are across the courtyard and near the bathroom (which we are thankful for because it is not an outhouse!), while we are in what seems to be a storage room next to the kitchen. It is bare in here, save for a cluster of things up against the wall, a clothesline with some wash on it, and two beds standing on a concrete floor. Church is at ten tomorrow, and we, Lord willing, will meet up with some of our team for a day at church and the market, which also occurs upon the morrow.

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

Day 12, June 17th, 2009

2009-07-07T11:27:00.000-07:00

There is plenty of agriculture such as this in Guatemala.

And of course it's raining.

Mayan sherpherdess, guiding her flock

Sheep!

Mountains garbed in the snow-white robe of the clouds

Moooo!!!

Another cloudy view.

Guatemala had lots of trees!

I have been graced with an amazing day! As I speak, I sit perched upon a bed in San Miguel Acata'n- K'anjob'al country!

The way here was beautiful, rolling hills smothered in the misty veil of the clouds. Mountains stooped into wild villeys cultivated by agriculture. Ladies in traditional Mayan dress bent their backs against the elements, caring for the family's crops. Some drove sheep along the sides of the narrow roadway, others sat guarding their flock. Even small children seemed to have tasks, their little arms already employed in gardening, water fetching, and the like.

And so we bumped along the rickety road, windows open and chilly, mountain air flowing in. I snuggled into my jacket , my legs nearly freezing. Yet when laura offered to close the window, both Hannah and I proclaimed our verdict. No. The teeth of the atmosphere was part of the Mayan experience, and we weren't about to lose a single second of it.

At long last, San Miguel Acata'n rolled into view. Pulling up in front of a hotel by the name of Estrella de Belen, we entered. A smell immediately flled my nostrils, and, although I couldn't place locate the source, it dind't conjure up pleasing thoughts. God, however, reminded me I was a missionary and therefore helped me to suppress my complaints.

After a lunch of chicken and chips, we gathered laundry and some gifts and headed over to the iglesia, wehre the K'anjob'al OldTestament translator, Xunic, met us. He told us a bit aobut his work by using Arvid as a translator. Then, we got to learn some phrases and worship songs, some of which they expect to hear from us in church on Sunday.

We were assigned villages, and our gifts were divded. I am going to Coya with Hannah, Sam, and Raymond, which also happens to be where Arvid and Nancy lived while translating the New Testament.

At the end of this procedure, we became aware of three tiny presences, two of which stared at us through the doorway. We began to play with these wide-eyed little girls, who spoke only K'anjob'al. Kris-Ann chased them outside, and then all the way to their home, which was a building on the church grouds. We met the family and, before I ever even reached the door, the eldest ran up to me and threw her arms around me.

"Mi amiga," I cooed to her in Spanish . She smiled back at me.

"Tzet ab'i?" I inquired, reverting back to K'anjob'al.

"Maria," she said softly.

Later, having found out the names of the two littler ones, Dorcas and Ana, respectively, we took them back inside the church and introduced them to everyone. It wasn't long, however, until we had to go.

This night, I went to Abby's room wondering if they knew where I could get pure water (drinking from the tap is hazardous to our health). Nobody knew, but they invited me to stay and so I did. Before I knew it, they were teaching me to dance Jamaican and laughing at how I perfomed it! Rachel then came up and told us that we were being too loud.

Well, g2g!

In Christ,

Brittany

Day 11, June 16th, 2009

2009-07-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

Translated, this says we are supposed to dispose of our toilet paper into the little basket beneath the sign- something we had to do wherever we went in Guatemala because if we flushed it, the system would be messed up.

I love the contrast between the clouds and the landscape

Cowherds

Cows!

This flower was outside our hotel, and I couldn't resist adding my own personal touch to the natural beauty of God's creation!

Woman in traditional Mayan costume

Peddlers would flock to traffic jams in hopes of getting some good deals for there merchandise.

In Guatemala City- Bethany and Hannah had some tracts their Dad had written twenty years back in Spanish that they used to minister to people such as these.

Mount Agua (volcano)- it has a lake in it!

If you look in the middle of the background of this pic, you will encounter a puff of cloud. That's actually smoke coming out of the volcano that's lowly active!

Este buena? We added just about everything possible into that little plastic cup!

Coca Cola bottles!

Our hotel in Huehuetenango!

It is really difficult to believe that this trip is half over. In so many ways, it has only begun! Today, we bused over to Huehuetenango, which took us through a few topsy-turvy roads where we literally had to brace ourselves to remain in our seats. Some of us tried to sleep, but most could only closetheir eyes against the rolling.

We did see some pretty cool geographical features, however, including four or five volcanoes. One was always active at a minor level.

Although the roads were terribly curved, by the grace of God we all made it here to safety. After checking into our hotel and devouring our scrumptious lunch, arvid took a few of us and led us through a marketplace. This was interesting, especially because it was maintained upon a rough stone floor and was basically under a simple roof. We had to walk for at least five minutes through the outskirts of the building before we arrived in the market itself.

When we had traversed that completely and come back up to the hotel, Laura, Adrianna, Hannah, Abbygayle, Kris-Ann, Jodi, Raymond, and I went for an adventurous stroll down some streets and elicit from them whatever memory we could. Unfortunately, we didn't find much else interesting save for a stop sign with the Pepsi symbol on it and some women making tortillas by hand. They'd take some dough, pat it out in their hands, then lay it to cook.

As for yesterday, we had John and Diana (the two missionaries we met), and then pulled in Tim Carey (another missionary) to share with us about his time on the field. Arvid talked to us for about an hour and a half, and then we went to eat.

That's all for today!

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

Day 9, June 15th, 2009

2009-07-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

The Eiffel from underneath!

The Eiffel Tower

The National Palace

To commence this entry, I will begin where left off yesterday since I didn't tell you what happened.

Well, first off, God granted me an introduction to a world of new experiences with a new experience- an earthquake! Nancy, Sam, and I were sitting peacefully in the dining area, me writing away in you, dear journal, and the two of them reading. Suddenly, a gentle rolick fo the floor roused my attention and at first my brain countered it with confusion. I looked at Nancy, and she read my perplexed expression. Then, just before she confirmed my thoughts, it clicked. We were in an earthquake!

"Stop shaking things down there!" Arvid yelled from upstairs, and we laughed.

Having only heard of the disastrous ones that take many lives, I never knew that an earthquake could be so, well, fun! It was just a gentle rock, back and forth, almost soothing. I actually have sort of prayed it would come back!

After a short service of worship and Arvid's talk, we ate and headed over to the museum for the afternoon. Unfortunately, it did not open until 1:30, so we went shopping for an hour and a half at a local tourist's market, where we bartered Quetzales for souvenirs. Annie was kind enough to lend me fifteen Quetzales because I had left my money at the hotel.

The museum was amazing- whole rooms dedicated to Mayan artifacts. There was everything from huge salt making bowls to ball game antiques and huge stone relief carvings. Arvid gase us a personal tour, partially because God has privileged him with the chance to live with Mayan people while translating, and partially because very seldom would ther be any description in English of what we were seeing. Eventually, however, we began to group off and go explore what we could.

After that our driver took us downtown to see some sites and Arvid translated the speech he gave us. Downtown, we witnessed firsthand the clebration of Corpus Christi, where people come to sell and shop wares.

Did you know that there's actually two Eiffel Towers in the world? That's right. One is in France and the other in Guatemala City- given to the Guatemalans by the French. We drove right under, shooting photos to our heart's content.

That night, we met up with two missionaries who had translated the New Testament into Chorti, the language spoken in a tribal Guatemalan group. They snag for us, since their side specialty is music, and, for singing old-fashioned tunes, they sounded great!

In Christ,

Brittany

Day 8, June 14th, 2009

2009-07-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

Random pic, I know, but I loved the style of wrought iron and wood they had in this hotel!

Just thought ya'll would like to see a photo of the room I shared with Hannah and Kris-Ann in Guatemala City. Sorry it's a bit blurry.

A cool tree in the courtyard of our hotel.

Guatemala City as seen from a pedestrian overpass.

Kris-Ann loved to do hair! Here she is explaining to us about dreadlocks.

After the preivous events, we bused over to our hotel in Guatemala City. The metropolis is quaint- it reminded me of a cross between Venice and China. Wrought iron wrings from my mind a thought of home, while the unique marriage of modernism and tradition flairs a taste of Central American style. Guatemala City is also surrounded by wooded hills which might be mountains, adorning the place with a string of beauty that I ahve yet to see elsewhere. it is not unlike the Hill Country (in Texas), but if you could just see the lovely contrast and foliage of this place, I am you would agree that this location has character.

When we pulled into our hotel, the first thing I thought was, Oh no, we're staying here? But then I got to thinking, You know, we have a place to stay and a roof over our heads, and for that we are thankful. And guess what? It's actually quite manageable and very cute!

Another thing I must thank God for is our wonderful team. Annie, Hannah, and I were sitting in a room when Annie made the comment that we already felt like family. And it's so true. God has granted us a team that is in such perfect harmony that we have become not only friends, but a sort of comfort for each other. I know that if I didn't have my team, I'd be very lonely indeed.

We met the Jamaicans yesterday, and they are wonderful people. They're names are Jodi, Abbygayle, and Kris-Ann, along with their leader, Raymond. They fit in with us very well- another thing for which I thank God- and are fun people to be around. Kris-Ann even taught us a card game played in Jamaica, very similar to Mafia. We're having a lot of fun getting to know them, and are very privileged to have them on the trip.

At bed time, Kris-Ann asked me if we were going to do devotions, so we opened our Bibles, read some verses, talked about them, and prayed. Oh, dear readery, I cannot even begin to tell you what a beautiful thing it is to have people from different cultures get together to adore God! With what epths can we show our gratitudefor this universal adoration we share!

In conclusion, then, I guess you could say God is teaching me to thank Him in everything, not only the good things. This should prove priceless throughout the trip and throughout life.

In Christ,
Brittany

Day 8, continued....

Oh, God! We just had the most amazing experience! In attempting to merge the covenants of the Jamaicans and ours, we found we had almost identical concepts, so all we had to do was write them down! And then Raymond prayed that we would forget our differences because we are one in You.

Oh, God! You are so good!

In Christ,
Brittany Goodrich

Day 7, June 13th, 2009

2009-07-03T14:55:00.000-07:00

Guatemala- here we come!

Yep- it was still THAT early when we got to the Orlando airport!

From foreground- Bethany, Katie, Laura, Rachel, and Annie

Our team

Yep- still four o'clock in the morning! She was really tired, but Adrianna somehow found the energy to amuse us.

***YAWNNNNN***

Rachel, Nancy, and Sam

Front- Laura
Back- Jessica, Bethany, and Hannah

Note: I forgot to write for a couple of days, so that is why I have such a big gap in the dates.

I am writing by the rays of a brilliant dawn peeking over the horizon. The lull of the plane flows gently beneath me, bits of chatter mingling with the quiet. It is about 6:15 in the morning, and the sights of drooping eyelids (quite literally) surrounds me.

To fly at this slumbering hour is a graceful pleasure; to be soaring trhoug creation's sleeping hours, with the eye of God solely watching over us. And it is times like these that I am fully convinced that He is good....

I did not finish this entry during that flight, and now the sun shines brightly all about us. Through puffs of cloud we spy spots of land- not the lush green amongst which I have been living for the last week, but dry, deserty fields, nourished only by the care of farmers. God has graced us with such a beautiful earth and, until He calls me home, I am content to live in it. Now, for our routine so far:

At 3:00 this morning, the ringing of a phone poked rudely into our realm of sleep. The day before, Nancy had arranged for a wake-up call to ensure we all awoke at the proper hour. We had only slept for an approximation of five hours, so we hung up the phone and set our own alarm, ending up barely having enough time.

Now, here we are, nearly eight hours later, preparing to alnd at a wonderful sped. Lush hills slope to populated valleys. We are very near the ground now...and landed! YAYY! Praise God for a great, safe travel!

In Christ,

Brittany

Day 4, June 10th, 2009

2009-07-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

Watx' me ja'kul? Or how is your stomach in K'anjob'al, Mayan! Today, Nancy started to teach us some K'anjob'al, and her lessons will continue until we meet up with Arvid in Guatemala City (he is currently in Panama helping some Jamaican kids get their visas to join the team and doing orientation with them).

We need to pray for them, though, because the Panamese government is not allowing them to get their visas, and Arvid's flight was majorly delayed today. It seems as if the enemy is attacking on all sides, and I would like to ask God that He would bind the enemy right now.

Today, we wrapped up phonetics and grammar. That's relieving becasue they are my hardest subjects. Translation was interesting, as usual, and so were devotions. We added to our Korean vocabulary during the time with our language helper, and my phonetics teacher asked to interview me tomorrow.

A first and only time Literacy and Scripture Use class was conducted and a lady from Wycliffe came in and showed us how God's Word was reaching people in different formats, including audio and children's stories on film. They send out devices with the Gosple recorded in the mother language of the people, and they also have a Christian radio and a recording station. These methods wrok well with oral-centered communities that grew up audio learners. Churches are encouraged to have separate meetings to listen to and discuss the Bible, using a device called the Proclaimer, which has at least a New Testament recorded in the local language.

For dinner, a fellow student from Peru prepared us an ethnic Peruvian meal, replete with various kinds of rice and sauces, and finsihed off iwth rice pudding and a purple pudding to put over it. To drink, we had a juice made from purple corn and a Peruvian soda. It was delicious!

Well, we gotta get up early tomorrow, so bye!

In Christ,
Brittany

Day 3, June 9th, 2009

2009-07-01T13:56:00.000-07:00

During worship, we got the privilege of using instruments from foreign countries. This is actually a xylophone and don't quote me, but I believe it's used somewhere in Africa. I'm sorry for the lack of photos- since we were in classes all day I didn't really get a lot of chances to take them.

Katie and I both agree on the summation of our feelings this morning- we did not want to get up. Several times, we must have at least considered going back to sleep when we finally arose at the eventful hour of 7:04 a.m.

At about 7:30, we made it to breakfast and had a delicious item sort of like a stuffing casserole.

Worship commenced at eight, which, though small, is unique in its sincerity.

After that came devotions, which was lead by Andy. He talked to us about how important it is to stay true to our religion, giving examples of two highly respected pastors and their break from Christianity.

Grammar was our next class, and we basically just went over some stuff and got optional homework.

Phonetics (or Funetics as our teacher Zoe likes to call it) came after, and we corrected our homework and learned some more sounds.

Sounds might appear dull to you, but the next course shouldn't. We had a class on translation and were given Psalm 23 in Hebrew and the fromal English translation. Beneath these translations were a set of guidelines by which we had to translate the meaning of the Psalm back into English, assuming that our language had some obstacles it doesn't really have, but cultural problems that served the purpose of illustration. It was sort of difficult, but at the same time really fun because we had to make sense of God's Word, and then make God''s Word make sense in the language!

During our time with our language helper, we learned more Korean than I could've dreamed of learning in an hour. Sometime, I hope to record it somewhere.

We had a couple come in who had been doing language surveying. I can't really tell you much else about them, but what they basically do is evaluate language similarity levels and whither or not the are ready to have a Bible in their mother tongue.

They served us a Thai dinner, and then the GET Global team (Guatemala team) went off to discuss our trip.

Well, that's it!

In Christ,

Brittany Goodrich

Lines, Vines, and Trying Times Review

2009-06-30T20:18:00.000-07:00

Their story's perhaps not uncommon- ordinary kids following their dreams in a little known corner of the country...waiting...hoping someday to stumble onto fame.

Who hasn't heard that tale before? In many ways, it's a part of who we are. It's the seedling of the American dream, waiting to sprout.

But it is rare for the new plant to survive the seasoned winds of world. Often, it withers away, never to be seen again. And yet, we continue to chase these dreams, competing with and helping each other in turn, and applauding those who succeed.

For some, these identical stories are too identical. For others, the stories are their own...and they find themselves right where they feel they're supposed to be.

The latter is the story of the Jonas Brothers. A little more than three short years ago, they were merely three brothers, and, Nick and Joe both appeared in Broadway shows as kids, they mostly just lived ordinary lives. Since the trio got signed as a group act, however, the calm waters began to stir a bit.

With the release of their first album behind them, and a small group of fans rallying to them, they nullified their original contract and jumped ship to Hollywood Records. When their self-titled album blared across the players of the world, their fanbase skyrocketed, and the album sold platinum.

Just a few months after the premiere of their debut movie, Camp Rock, the band released their third record, A Little Bit Longer. The first single, Burnin' Up, melted the charts and eventually went on to get the trio nominated for a Grammy. It remains their most popular song to this day.

And now, a year later, the fourth made its way into the world. Throughout the years, the boys have expressed that they are always growing as musicians and improving their style. Such statements are backed by this album. While retaining that unique blend of raw, soft, and passionate vocals that define just about any Jonas song, the boys seem to be reaching out in all directions, from the rocky beat of World War 3 to a song with a hint of country, What Did I Do to Your Heart. Much Better- a song that Joe claims they used to give back to the fans- welds modern pop skilfully to that of the eighties. On two of the songs, they have special guests- Miley Cyrus (Before the Storm) and the rapper Common (Don't Charge Me for the Crime).

Although the album might lack a serious show-stopper such as Burnin' Up or Lovebug, I would still suggest you purchase it because it captures a beauty none of the others seem to quite grasp. It's as if the boys are telling us to forget the fantasies- that this is how life is, but just hang in there...we'll be all right.

Now, for my ratings of the songs:

World War 3- 5/5. AWESOME song! Who doesn't feel like someone's attacking them unfairly sometimes?

Paranoid- 5/5. By now, ya'll should know what I think of this one. My personal fave JB song!

Fly With Me- 5/5. If Paranoid can be considered the best song on the album, then Fly With Me should come very close. Originally written for Night at the Museum 2, this song beautifully expresses the simple feeling of wanting to be with someone forever.

Poison Ivy- 4/5. Although Mom and I regard to differing degrees this song as dumb, it treats the traditional Jonas fans to a blast from the past- a fun beat to irresistibly catchy lyrics (literally, we go around singing "Everyone's allergic to poison ivy")!

Hey Baby- 4/5. This song makes you want to DANCE!!! A great one to have on hand for a party!

Before the Storm (featuring Miley Cyrus)- 5/5. When I first heard that Miley sang with Nick on this album, I'll admit I was like "Oh dear...." but surprisingly, I ended up really liking this song! It's well-written, has a great tune to match, and vocals actually complement it (and each other) quite well.

What Did I Do to Your Heart- 3/5. I used to love country, I know, but this has to be my least favorite song on this record. Sorry guys, country just ain't your style.

Much Better- 5/5. Omigosh! Could this song get MUCH BETTER?!?! Not lacking in notes that just beg you to listen, it also doubles as the perfect comeback for Taylor Swift's Forever and Always, in which she uses lyrics from JB's When You Look Me in the Eyes to mock Joe, who's her ex-boyfriend.

Black Keys- 5/5. Nick- one of the most beautiful pieces you've written. I absolutely love the message, and the fact that you thought of it while trying to write a song using solely the black keys of a piano lends it a very unique twist.

Don't Charge Me for the Crime (featuring Common)- 4/5. This song really doesn't have too deep of a meaning. It's tough-guy sound rasps of an innocent despair, giving a great example of a person thrust at a crossroads and who needs to make a choice, however.

Turn Right-5/5. This song is so sweet. Using the analogy of life as a racetrack, it tells us that it's okay to take the chance of turning right, instead of taking the regular left, and that it's all right to make mistakes.

Don't Speak- 4/5. Not entirely sure what all the lyrics mean, but the basic sketch is a love that you know won't last, and so you don't even want the person to speak to you so that you can keep your mind off them.

Keep it Real- 4/5. From the TV series JONAS comes this little ditty about being a star and not letting it change you.

Day 2, June 8th, 2009

2009-06-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

The above saying was a little phrase we all had to repeat in punctual unison when asked "Are we having fun yet?", which, according to Andy, might convince us that it was the best time we have ever had.

Me with Sung Ah, our Korean teacher

This morning, we woke up at about 6:35 a.m. and got ready for the day. By about 7:20 we were all ready to head down and went over in our little group f four. At about eight, Andy Ott came in and blew a loud whistle to get our attention, and then told us we must head to the classrooom. We learned a little bit about our group as we went around telling our names, our hometowns, countries we'd visited for more than two weeks, etc.

We opened with prayer and then the president of Wycliffe came and tlaked to us about the importance of translation and Vision 2025, which is a goal of the organization to have the last translation process started by 2025. There are still 2,400 languages worldwide that do not have the Scriptures, and most of them do not even have an alphabet yet.

We also had a worship service, which was neat becasue it was smaller and more heartfelt that I'm used to it being. Later, we had a monolingual demonstration performed by Christina and Jenny, two Wycliffe workers. Christina spoke only Spanish and Jenny English Pidgin for the purpose of education. Through it we learned that it is best not to use a common language as a crutch of communication. It is better to leanr by immersing yourself in it than easing yourself into the pool of confusion.

After that, we had phonetics...which is waayyy too hard for me! It's so hard I listened to the lesson, was lost there, and still get lost in the homework!

Lunch break followed, when we headed over to the Karibuni Cafe and ordered foo. While at the table, I met a young Thai man by the name of Peter and talked with him about Thailand and Buddhism versus Christianity. Following our meal, we actually got to meet our language helper and ask her a few things. Me and a couple others got assigned to a girl from Korea. We learned "Hangook miloh _____________ morah gungheiyo?" (how do you say?) "Anyong" (hello), etc.

After that came grammar, which was hard but slightly interesting, since we were learning the different structures of words and how we can deductively construct their meaning with self-discovered information.

Heading back to the building with the cafe, we then proceeded to receive a tour of the Word Springs museum and leanred about Wycliffe's history, it's core foundation (prayer*), how to get involved in prayer, and saw a copy of Martin Luther's German Bible. We also experienced how misinterpretations could have serious consequences that could lead to life or death...literally. I.e., one word in a language means life and another word which just added an i meant death.

We were blessed with a Chinese dinner tonight, and one of the students is a missionary kid in China and spoke fluent Chinese. He prayed for us in that tongue, and, upon being askedwhat the dining customs were, he proceeded to explain that elders went first (or rather, were served first- we were serving ourselves that night). Boy, I have never seen anyone so proud of his or her age as those elderly ones as they lined up for their food!

Oh, and i forgot and adventure we had going to dinner. On the way there it was pouring rain, but neither Katie, Jessica, Annie, nor I wanted to get dressed in rain garb for just five minutes of walking. Once we got out into the gale, we decided that we'd dash beneath the overhang of the roof for as long as we could and then wourld run quickly into the uilding which was across the parking lot. By the time we arrived, we were absolutely SOAKED and had to mop ourselves down with paper towels in the bathroom!

Well, that's it!

In Christ,

Brittany

*As a matter of fact, if ya'll could pray for Wycliffe, that would be great.Vision 2025 is a lofty goal- one that cannot be reached without the divine intervention of our God. Pray that the Gospel would be well received and missionaries' safety as well. Ask God that the devil would be bound, as he is out to destroy this work people are doing for the Lord. You see, an attempt such as this takes more than those out on the front lines- it takes the soldiers on the sidelines cheering them on. In fact, some have even come to Christ when shown how many people are praying for this effort. Thank you!

Day 1, June 7th, 2009

2009-06-29T12:50:00.000-07:00

Dad loving Happy Feet in the airport!

Florida from the air

My room in Orlando at Wycliffe Headquarters

Note: Since I figured you all would be curious by now, and since I promised you a blog post on this subject anyway, I have decided to tell you, bit by bit, about my time in Guatemala! It was a truly amazing experience- one that God used to grow me closer to Him. Not knowing where else to start, I decided to post my almost daily journal entries (many thanks to Aunt Michele for the beautiful notebook!) along with pictures that go with what I am writing. I hope to write in a new one everyday, so check often! Anyhow, without further adieu, I present to you a series of entries I am going to title Guatemala through the Eyes of a Missionary!

Yesterday, I asked for a very specific thing. While seated around the table at Macaroni Grill, I asked if I could put the kids to bed. Right now, I am writing from the airplane on my way to Orlando, where I am scheduled to do some preparatory training before heading down to Guatemala to share God's truth with the people there.

The reason I asked to put the kids to bed was that I won't see them again for another three weeks. I already miss everyone terribly, but have resolved not to dwell on that as it gives Satan a foothold.

I will say that Brielle and I cried a good deal last night, though.

Today, I didn't even want to get up because it meant I was leaving everyone. Yet, as I stare over the clouds and down at the land below, I cannot but marvel at the greatness of our God! And I think that if He cares enough to care for this world, that surely He cares enough to keep me and my family safe as well as my team. He has given us this mission and provided us with a means to follow through. Surely, then, He will give us the victory, will He not?

Now that I have described to you some of my feelings, I shall proceed to describe how you, my dear journal, ended up in my hands. A couple of weeks ago, God laid it upon the heart of my Aunt Michele to go online and purchase you. I had no idea what kind (of journal) she planned on getting, so when you showed up in your beautiful leather, I about flipped. It has been a semi-dream of mine to own a Barnes & Noble journal for a while, so it was a God-sent gift!

It's also amazing how God gives support in such odd ways. Through both the money that came in and the notebook, I can rest assured that this is where He wants me...and what could be a better way to spend my summer than doing what He wants me to do?

I might be all alone on this airplane, without another soul I know. I say might because I am almost alone, but not quite. God is with me- the One Who loves more than anyone in the world is watching over me. And on that fact, I stand.

Later....

Arvid (our leader) dropped me off with Christina (Wycliffe member), and together with a couple of my teammates I headed over to Wycliffe's headquarters. My roommate, Katie Bowman, and I got settled in and talked before heading down to orientation. Watched The Gods Must be Crazy in order to draw awareness to different worldviews. Arvid and Nancy (his wife) told their story. By the time we were through, me and my teammates were all very tired, so we wlaked back to our rooms. Called Mom, and then opened a little note she had given me with Psalm 91 written on it.

We start our lessons at 8:00 tomorrow!

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

Finally! Some Pics from when the Jollys were Here!

2009-05-28T21:07:00.000-07:00

Super-models! I absolutely love how Bekah looks into the distance here.

You go, Girl!

Ach...not my fave of me...but Bekah seemed to think it was one of the best of me.

The simplicity of this one just rox

Tootsie rolls!

I luv this pic of me and Bekah...something about it is very honest and intriguing...almost as if it has another story to it.

Hahahaha...they're faces are classic!

Shhhh!!!!!

Gangstas....

Sisters!

We took some pics with happy faces and others with serious ones.

Bekah pretending to like our canine friend.

Bekah and Katie had a lot of time on there hands because Ellen vanished into the house for about an hour and left the other two completely bored, so they snapped like at least ten pics of themselves.

One of my personal faves...poolside teenage girls pumped up to punk princesses!

Katie pretending she likes Amigo....

Ellen seriously liking Amigo.

Another pic I got my hands on.

And of course...what would a teenage party be without music?

After Bekah found out she could take pics of things reflected in Ellen's sunglasses, she began taking pictures for more purposes than just cheating at cards. In this, Ellen is the center of attention, but our shadows remain forever in the background

Bekah's cheating move- a pic of Ellen's cards reflected in her sunglasses!

Bekah and katie chillin by the poolside.

Hangin round with some best buds!

Liar!!!!!! In case you don't already know, it's a tradition for our little fearsome foursome to play at least one good round of liar during our visits.

Ellen relaxin' in the grass

And Katie...yet again posing for the camera!

Photography courtesy of Bekah and some by Katie.

Editing by Bekah and Brittany.

One lazy day in March, during the Jollys visit, we had nothing to do. Since it was pretty hot outside, we all decided to go hang in my backyard and take pictures of ourselves, swim, listen to music, eat, play cards, you name it! Well, we discovered on that "boring" day that doing all these things and just chilling with each other was a lot more fun than roaming street malls and looking at everything we couldn't buy. These are a few of the pictures we took that day.

Unexpected Idol Upset brings Christians to their Feet

2009-05-22T23:12:00.000-07:00

May 20th, 2009-

"For the last time this season, dim the lights, please," Ryan Seacrest said. With the illumination lowered to a faded shadow, he proceeded to call on a man holding an envelope....

Behind them stood Kris Allen and Adam Lambert, arms around each other's shoulders, patiently awaiting their fates. Both had come so far...from near nobodies to stars. But tonight, none of that mattered. A nation had spoken. A nation had decided. Now, what hung heavy in the minds of the American people was who would go on...and who would, for the final time of year 2009, be sent home.

Adam Lambert, an ex-Broadway star with an impressive range and remarkable theatrics, took American Idol's stage by storm with his unique performances and characteristic shrieks. The judges' pet performer and popular among many of the Idol viewers, almost everyone remained certain he would win. One of his turn-offs , however, was his feminine qualities, painted clearly with black fingernail polish, layers of eye-makeup, and several large rings (due to the fact that I do not know the full age range or maturity of my readers, I refuse to go into any more detail about Lambert, but let's just say his lifestyle violated a very strong Christian belief).

Kris Allen, on the other hand, was a nice, southern hometown boy who sang for his church before airing on Idol. For most of the competition, no one seemed to be able to apprehend how far Kris would go. But, week after week, he slipped up another place, eventually surpassing expected winner Danny Gokey inot the finals. The problem was, he was clearly not the judges favorite and his soft, country voice not exactly what a show that thrives on producing America's next big thing had envisioned.

Ryan took the envelope from the man and turned to the contestants. I grabbed the armrests of my chair, my heart thundering in my chest.

"Here we go," I said to my family, who was also anxiously awaiting the results of our vigorous voting for Kris the night before.

Talking to the contestants, Ryan spoke of things I can't quite remember (but probably had to do with this is it, America has decided, blahblahblah) because I was so nervous. If you've ever watched American Idol, you understand the cycle of choosing sides, rallying behind your favorite artists on Tuesday night only to wait breathlessly as they pass through the prolonged yet suspensefully artistic elimination process on Wednesday. And, when it's down to the wire, it can be even worse.

"...and the American Idol of the year 2009 is...." A long pause interrupted Ryan's speech, suspending in mid-sentence.

C'mon, this was torture!

"Poor Kris, he knows it," Mom said, observing the way he looked straight at Ryan, a resigned look in his eyes. He knew what America had decided. Adam could have the title...it was all right with him....

But that look quickly changed to surprised joy at the next words.

"...Kris..." Oh...my...gosh "...Allen!"

Dad shouted "Yes!" and lunged to his feet. Mom and I quickly jumped to ours as well and started screaming really loud (seriously, our throats were sore for like six hours afterwards). We hugged and high-fived...it was unbelievable! Adam was the for sure favorite, and even amid his tears Kris was heard to say, "Adam deserves this!" Nevertheless, Kris, the so-that underdog of the competition, had championed, bringing his fellow Christians to their feet...rejoicing that God had paved the way for another Christ-like role model to grace this fallen world.

Paranoid- JB's new single!

2009-05-13T21:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, since I am not allowed to write reviews on iTunes (and, oh, what I'd have to say if I did), I decided to come on here and write one of my own.

First off, I'd like to say that this is one amazing single from one amazing boy-band! Previously, Jonas Brothers haters have backed their scrutinizing reviews with that they are a Disney band (thus making them childish and unsuitable for "real music"). Not now. With Paranoid, the boys' first single off their album Lines, Vines, and Trying Times (due out June 15th), they grab the listener by the hand and -with one final popish fizz- drag them down into the inner workings of the human mind.

Prior to this, the Jonas Brothers have delivered widely acclaimed songs such as Burnin' Up, S.O.S., and Lovebug, attracting to themselves thousands of screaming fans and have ridden their way up to one of the hottest bands of today. Up until now, they've surfed the waves of success with teenage ditties concerning relationships, holding out when everything goes wrong, break-ups, living with a life-threatening disease, and the year 3000 :).

Now, the boys have decided to go into a slightly different direction, diving their still kid-gloved hands into meatier topics. This time, while still keeping their songs clear of any immoral additions, they address a subject that teens are just beginning to realize, adults will have no problem relating to...and doubtless it is very real to these three guys, who are trying to swim in an ocean that crashes around them, telling them to do this and that.

Paranoid portrays a world of stress, where the artist is drowning in expectations, calling to be rescued from the "staring faces". From the very get-go, JB lets us know that this is no Lovebug. No fantasy loves and dream girls...this is real life, and, through the funky beat of sizzling popculture, we hear the loud wail of a confused race of men who are groping for a foothold in the battlefield of life.

At the risk of sounding emo, I wish to inform you that I do not at all condone a depressed life...I am simply applauding an artist's depiction of times that challenge us both mentally and physically, taunts us as we take steps out against it, daring us to make the right choice when everything seems to go wrong.

And that being said, I would also like to tell you that the Jonas Brothers aren't at all a depressing band to listen to. I just got done listening to a very positive song by them called Play My Music. They are wonderful Christian guys who are trying to steadfastly hold on to their beliefs in the world of fame and fortune. And JB...if I had one piece of advice to give you, it would be to never lose sight of those beliefs. Never sacrifice them for anything, because no matter what your dissenters might say against you...in the end that's what matters the most.

An Awakened Realization

2009-05-09T23:07:00.000-07:00

I stepped into the cool, shadowy recesses of the house, coming from the bright, sunny outdoors. Half-dried hair clutched the edges of my face, my swimsuit starting to lose its liquidy refreshment, as I crossed over to the counter.

Something caught my eye as I headed for the refridgerator, snagging me in its snare. Christian Aid Ministries Annual Report. Hmmm...maybe I'd get a missions' opportunity out of this one!

Picking it up, I peeled the cover back from above the pages and began to browse, casting a cursory glance at the photographed children staring back at me. The magazine was, in short, one of statistics- how many pencils were donated to where in Africa, how many tents to another place- and all were very sad to look at, being that I could never imagine not having school supplies or being in need of a tent. I had just come in from a family hangout and lunch next to our six-feet deep pool, by golly!

But then, something crossed my eyes that shook me. A little girl- an orphan, the text attested- lying across her nannies knee. Two months old, she was, and a mere five pounds. Ribs protruded from her drawn skin- nothing did healthy layers of infantile fat conceal. She appeared to be very weak...the magazine said she hadn't eaten in several days...her eyes were nearly gazed in delirium

By the grace of God, Christian Aid Ministries was able to come in and provide her with nourishing formula that she needs, but the fact that the youngster was doing better didn't heal the scar of her every accented feature- human life deteriorating while the rest of the world watches either helplessly or uncaring...and I can't comprehend the ways of our God. Why would He place a tiny, sweet little thing in the arms of those who have next to nothing, who from birth are exposed to famine, war, and disease, and place me in the arms of a family who can afford food, clothes, a television, iPods, health insurance, cars, a house, etc.? I know that for whatever reason my God of Justice is seeing it as just, but I just can't wrap my brain around it.

Have you ever thought of the starving people all over the world...as you're shoving a sandwich in your face? You get three meals a day (and sometimes several snacks in between), while families all over the world are being wiped out from famine.

Have you ever taken the time to thank God for good health and the excellent knowledge of medicine He has given our doctors? Thousands die worldwide due to numerous curable diseases.

And yet we feel...we're entitled to more??? The motto of our nation might as well be "Here's the ladder of life. Climb it. Get that Ferrari. Be the best at what you do. Get the most for as little work as you can. Marry a movie star. Run for president. Oh, and text us on your iPhone when you're term in office expires...we'll have that mansion out on the shores of California all moved-in by the time you arrive from D.C."

Well, do you know that all any of the poor people want is to have a healthy, safe family with food, a home, and a good job?

Christianity in America seems free, but nowhere on earth is Christianity exempt from the devil's attempts at reclaiming us or preventing God's Word from going further into the world. I believe that the success God has given Americans is also Satan's tool to turn our faces from the suffering and those hungry for Christ that surround us. So distant is their life-style, so unheard their cries for help amidst the noise cell-phones, stereos, and shallow, ungodly chatter that we forget they even exist.

Oh, woe to this self-centered nation! It's a wonder God doesn't strike us all down for everything we've done!

But since He has seen fit to leave us here, I want to ask you to pray. To pray that God would humble Christians worldwide, show us where our wrong lies, and bring us together as brethren under the Name of Christ. Pray that, both together and individually, we will each do our part to ensure that the hungry in Christ will be met with the bread of Truth, and that through our helping hands God's light would shine through in a dark world.

Riddle from The Blood of the Lamb

2009-04-27T13:37:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I FINALLY figured out what the riddle on the medallion in The Blood of the Lamb is going to be! I've been meaning to accomplish for a while, seeing as how the idea is a year old already, but I really didn't know until today what I was going to do with that daunting part of the book called the middle. So anyway, here it is, the first draft of the riddle of The Blood of the Lamb!

Note: I did the riddle in parts since it is to guide the plotline of the book. The characters then will naturally only receive a chunk of the riddle at a time, giving them progressive information as the story progresses through its individual stages. Riddle parts are separated by paragraphs.

Whoever finds this, make it clear,
A prophecy fulfilled is very near.
Through depths and crags and tales of old,
Find you a city more precious than Gold.
Where children laugh and weather be bitter,
Beware, for not all is gold that doth glitter.

Whoever finds this, if you dare,
Play upon the fiddle,
And avoid the Serpent's snare.
For not all is as it should seem.
Behold, awake!
Lest you should find it a dream.

Whoever finds this, mourn by night,
And watch the bird's stellar flight.
For Morn is far and Night is near,
A deep, dark sorrow for all you hold dear.
But wait for Dawn and you will see,
Another thing to be done for me.

Whoever finds this, do you see?
A city shining forth with Glee?
Wolves by night and sheep by day,
Take heed and never wander astray!
But look to Light and you will find,
A Truth that is forever Mine.

Whoever finds this, seek me where,
Those who are brave, to go, never dare.
Look to the Star, let her be your guide,
From her yourselves never do hide.
Go wherever she might,
For my will she doest not fight.

Whoever finds this, see through the fog,
The trap set in the Serpent's bog.
For not all Old are wise and not all Wise are old,
Separate one from the other by the gift untold.
Tread the path narrow and straight.
Beware the road of the wide, open gate!

To them who find this, it will not be long,
Before right is made of what was wrong.
Fear not the fire, for it will not burn,
Provided Forgiveness takes her turn.
A wound in the flesh, though painful to do,
For all of mankind, a love to renew.

A Party to Murder- Backward Glances at Shine's Latest Production!

2009-04-25T20:33:00.000-07:00

Early August- I stepped into my drama director's home, alongside my friend Bekah and our two moms. She welcomed us into her new and beautiful abode, seating us upon the sofas. As she chatted with both of us and our parents, she gave us the run-down about what drama troupe life would look like and demand from us. We moved through the rest of the proceedings, Bekah still auditioning the acting life and myself pumped and ready for another full-blown season.

Nine months and plenty of intensive practices later, I sit here in my living room, reminiscing over the fun, the trials, and the spoofs me and my eighteen fellow friend-turned actors experienced. May I share them with you?

For the first several months, we concentrated on games to enhance awareness of other actors and many different facets of acting. We'd laugh at one another's antics, cheer successes in team-oriented games, etc. But, before long, we had the first draft of a script in our hands, auditions behind us, and our individual roles distributed....

The crack-down rehearsals really began in March, when we'd go every Tuesday from 1-4 p.m. running through our script. Sometimes we got through only two scenes a day. Week by week, we inched the pages out of our hands, began to learn our characters, and were continuing to silently build bonds as a team.

Soon enough, we had a week before our first performance. We were so scared- many of us still forgot our lines, nobody had any idea what they were doing, and our director was only getting more and more stressed. Some thought we wouldn't be ready. Others believed that we would pour our all into it until we were ready.

Until the last Tuesday, when we went through the play once and a half in six hours. It was unbelievable- we had never done that before with this play! Surging over our faces, smiles dominated our cast as we filed home. A new realization, a sudden strength rushed through us- we could do this....

"Ten minutes," said our director as she poked her head backstage. I grabbed my friend Grace and we screamed quietly amongst ourselves- screamed with our whole beings and every nerve, yet bottled inside so we would maintain our concealment behind the artificial walls that consisted of our stage. Roving amid the crowd of nineteen actors, each and every one of us spread quiet words of encouragement to each other, whispering about how we were going to rock and trying to calm ourselves as a team. Before long, we were herded into our dressing rooms, the first actors onstage taking their places, and the rest of us trying to refrain from useless chatter and to concentrate on our scripts.

Nine pages into the play, I found myself standing behind the actor that played Sutton, my nerves going beserk. Applause escorted out the first scene. The lights went down and came back up. Putting one bold foot in front of the other, I stepped out to leave everything out there.

Several minutes went by...I knew I was starting shaky, but slowly I gained a foothold. More characters had been introduced, and we began to fake a tea party. One of the actors entered, set the tray down, and just stood there. Oh dear.....

My friend Christine began to think as we tried to buy time for our fellow performer. "Aren't you going to leave now, Sutton?" "Do you have anything to say, Sutton?" she said.

"No, Madam."

Somehow or other, he recovered himself and we continued...for about a page, until another actor said his line in the wrong spot. But, luckily, by now we were well-prepared to ad lib, and another character filled in the blank spot with a geniusly impromptu line, which we all applauded in our minds. Once I almost tripped over the stage, but I caught myself in time.

Other than that, the performance went smoothly. We all had so much fun-the murder scenes went off without a hitch, hardly anybody guessed whodunit, our cast performed their parts with a talent that definitely overruled our low-budget attempt at a mystery. With what God had given us, we had used it to create the best performance possible.

But what was peculiarly fun to the actors was all the interesting characterizations we got to do during a part when we all stole some coins and the Inspector demanded them back. "Surely you don't suspect me!" "At least I've still got my good looks." and "Simply an over-active writers imagination." were some of the few lines that never made it to the script but we nonetheless used to add style and taste.

The saddest part of the night, however, was actually after the curtain call. When our director acknowledged our seniors, she broke some grievous news to everyone (including us).

Due to their age and insurance issues, six of our beloved friends wouldn't be able to come back to us next year. It was terrible. These were people I had practically grown up in theater with! We didn't even have time to react because we had to act strong in front of the audience!

The very next day, we performed the last production of this play. This one went off basically flawlessly, save for one major mishap....

I happened to be back in the girls dressing room (only two actresses were onstage), when I heard this alarm. Oh dear....

Rushing out, I found the rest of the cast in quiet confusion. We didn't know what to do. Candles were kindled all over the stage as part of the set...could this possibly be our worst nightmare come true?

Well, we had no orders and we weren't about to abandon the performance we had worked so hard for if we didn't have to.

"Should I go on?" the boy who played a very stoic butler said.

"Yes, yes," we whispered, hurrying him on.

The two actresses were still onstage when he stepped before them. We still had no idea what he was going to say (in a very droll monotone), but what came out of his mouth rocked our worlds....

"There is no fire in the back room, Madam."

We laughed. We shouted. We cheered. It was unbelievable! Something Satan could have used to entirely wreck our hard work God had turned into an unforgettable, happy memory that spiced the play with the unexpected! And the audience loved it!

The lights went down for the last time. Backstage, we gave up a mighty cry, we hugged, we danced. We joined hands as a team, held on to each other through thick and thin, and came out to a victorious standing ovation- still a team. Even as our lead ran into the dressing room to change back into her everyday self, her and I chatted elatedly about the performance and people's reception of it.

Yes, it was a bit sad. Goodbyes to good friends are never easy to say- especially when a quarter of our cast will probably never return to our team. But together, God had given us memories, special time with each other, and raised us to a height we could have never reaced without Him or each other.

Another Blood of the Lamb Excerpt

2009-04-18T23:43:00.000-07:00

A clang crashed through the air, shattering the fragile calm of the castle. Arrenia threw herself upon her bed, clutching her pillow close as she wept into it. Body convulsing with sobs, she tore into the bright purple casing, delving her grasp deep into the feathery recesses. Pools of liquid dripped from her cheeks, dotting the cloth with droplets from the rain of grief.

A long creak whistled from the ancient hinges as the door cracked open. Small steps tip-toed across the stone floor, stealing to the bed. The mattress sagged with the weight of another being. Sniffing, Arrenia stifled her sobs.

Then the voice came, strong and impeding. “Arrenia, I must say that your conduct has embarrassed me with the utmost shame. He sought to marry you, which is more than penniless princess might expect from anyone! He was a guest- and an honored guest at that. And yet you disgraced him. I am ashamed of you, Arrenia de la Cornia- ashamed!”

Blood spurt upon her lip as Arrenia sank her teeth into it, clotting a cry in her throat. Every sinew twisted in a saddened knot, she lay stiff and unmoved. She clamped lids over her eyes, bracing herself against the memories suddenly flooding her mind. Resonating in her ears and echoing through her being, every nerve exposed to the acute pain. Castor’s rich voice thundered in her head, accompanying the images of melodic mirth with heavy harmony. Warm grass embraced her once more, only this time with the cold chill of belated warning. The sun kissed her cheeks once again, caressing them in its conniving light until the awaiting rosebud burst forth, only to watch the premature crimson splash dwindle slowly away.

Why hadn’t she remained in Sleyvink? For surely imprisonment in an enemy camp held more freedoms than the unseen and unsympathied confinement to a man for which one had only hate!

“How difficult would it have been, Arrenia? He is a man of great standing- a man many wish to marry and who comes at no low price. How kind he was to stoop this low and ask you to marry him, too! All he wished to be your bride-price was that worthless half-medallion that adorns your throat, saying that your fame, beauty, and sweetness of soul sufficed all other payment. And were it not for me, you would have turned him away like a dog gone astray!”

Arrenia jerked slightly, raising her head from the pool of tears, thoughts swimming through her mind. The medallion?! No! It couldn’t be! Castor had said to keep it safe!

She grasped it in the palm of her hand, enveloping it in a protective grip. Looking wildly up, she said, “No! He can’t have it!”

Illana glanced at her with a sharp scold. “And why not?”

Gulping, she shrank back slightly, recoiling into her thoughts. Sniffling softly, she clutched the medallion closer. Despair marked her fragile features. What could she say? Anything she could say about Castor her stepmother would take no heed to. Delicately tracing the golden outer ridges, she glanced down at it- the embossed edges, the green emeralds shining forth, the mysterious half-picture of an engraved Lamb, beckoningly calm in its unhampered ferocity.

The final memory of her mother, her rosebud cheeks like a faded flower, retiring into eternal rest. Light brown hair hallooing her head, thinned and tangled by the attenuations of disease. She recalled the little braids she used to place in those tresses, which were once so vibrant and full. String many jewels into it, she would, until it glittered in bedazzled splendor. Rubies, amethysts, turquoise…all adorned the sweet locks, including the emerald that was now set in the medallion. Could she really relinquish it?

“I…it…was my mother’s,” she stammered. “Her last present…and my only reminder of her presence.”

The woman paused for a moment. “Hmmph! Dearest Arrenia, I believe you are learned in our legends of old. Pray you, have you ever heard tell of a girl who would not exchange worn-out reminiscences for the prospect of a future most prosperous?”

Arrenia shook her head, cautiously beginning to throw up her internal shield.

A triumphant little laugh escaped the cruel one’s lips. “I thought not. ‘Tis a wonder, since memories are so dear to us after all. We are left to wonder why no one bothered to pen these tales into immortal retellings, are we not? Everything of a good substance must end happily. Well, dear, hearken to the tales untold and hear their unuttered stories. In them, there is no happy endings, which is why they were seen as unfit to lie atop the page.”

Pressing her lips together, the girl lowered the deepening ponds of her brown eyes. Her grip loosening around the precious object, her hand fell into her lap, gently clasping the other. She remained quiet, for indeed she felt there were no more words to say. Crushed and heartbroken, she sat in surrendered silence, the last ounce of rebellious nerve drained from her body.

“Your betrothal will be considered official,” Illana said, rising. “And, upon the day appointed by the court, you will give him your heart, your soul, and everything in your possession, should he so ask it. Like it or no, that is how it will be. And with that, I will take my leave.”

In a blurred rainbow of color, her dress swirled about her, its folds rustling their mocking secrets. Fists curling at the ends of her arms, Arrenia fought off their whispering voices, bracing herself against the berating battering breaking her being. Crumbling beneath its crushing force, she curled onto the bed and cried into its cushion of comfort. Pools puddled about her eyes, deepening as she sobbed from the depths of her grief.

Hand flying to her heart, holding gently beneath it the hurt of her whole being. Bittersweet reminisces clogged her memory, lancing her through with piercing poignancy. Sniffing, she lay there, completely helpless against the battle that within her raged.

“Castor,” she whimpered, savoring the sweet sound of his name. “Castor.”

In a flash, she saw Lucrious, his hidden face fired in the crimson hues of flames. Ghastly figures whirled through the dark expanse of her mind, spinning to the escalating screams. She clustered the silken covers in her hand, shutting her eyes against the scene. Snakes swerved before her, forked tongues flicking in and out, hisses shrieking from their mouths. A single strand of smoke curled into the inky blackness of the night. She felt Castor shoving her head into the soft recesses of the spring grass, the deathly words resonating wickedly across the world.

Die they must! Die they MUST!

Unbeknownst to the girl weeping upon her bed, behind the door a hand probed into the recesses of a swollen sleeve, producing a key kissed by the rust of the ages. Carefully inserting it into the handle, the long, thin fingers twisted and twined until a click- a quiet, cautious click- sounded from the throat of the hole.

Tearing at the blissful quiet of the night, a trumpet blasted the breaking of dawn. Castor stirred in half-wakefulness, tossing around, battling the day until he finally retreated into the covers. The first ray of light enveloped him in its crafty clutches, spreading its warmth over his body. Shakily, he shivered as bright brilliance invaded his senses, dancing before him with a mockish gait.

Rolling over, he threw a pillow over his head and pinned it down with a pinch of his fingers. A midnight hue crowded out all color, immersing him into the mindless mercy of the blind. He set his teeth. The hurting had already begun.

A small creak crept into the stillness. Occupying the crack in the doorway, the queen peeped around the corner, sending in a shaft of lighthearted merriment. She paused momentarily, then shook her head, slipping one brocade slipper into the room.

“Why so somber, oh son of the king?” Striding over to him, she peeled back his sheets. “Arise, oh valiant warrior!” She tossed aside his pillow and kissed his cheek softly. “For today, my son, you shall stand head and shoulders over the finest knights of the land.”

Groan gurgling from the back of his throat, he turned about, shielding himself from the invading sunlight. Just outside his window, metal rang upon metal as jousters prepared for the tournament ahead of them, draining his body of the puddle of energy as it sapped the strength from his arm. Slowly, his muscles relaxed upon the bed, the heavy weight of a sword still hefty in his mind. A soft, small breath slid between his teeth, hissing its way out into the world.

Sinking into the mattress, the queen pushed aside a strand of dark hair, unveiling the face beguiled in gruesome pain. Sighing, she traced her way down his cheek, cradling it in the palm of her hand. His wild brown gaze met her soft green one, stinging her expression with a smile of sweet tenderness. “Still lovesick, are you? Well, she was a very fine maid. One so fine is rarely seen, yet rarer still is she snagged in a heart’s trap like you for her at birth had laid. Oh, son, rid yourself of the questioning look and doubt not my word! Did you not think I did not observe the way she looked at you, the way you lightened the spark in her eye? Oh, hearten yourself and doubt not my words- you her mind shall not soon forget!”

Calluses dug into her caressing touch as his fingers embraced hers. “This is truly your thought, Mother? You believe it to be as you say?”

Emotion ebbed and brimmed in her voice as she stared at her boy, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. Happy in her heart for his love requite, she yet grieved the bittersweet loss of the babe she once had beheld. Shimmering in the morning rays, a tiny tear tinseled her complexion with silver’s sparkling shine. Leaning, in she whispered, “Truly, lest I have not eyes to see.”

Folding his hard hand over hers, he said, “You are a good woman.”

She laughed. “Not so good as you would make me out to be, dear one. Now hurry. You have a competition to prepare for and I have some things I must see to.”

Patting him one last time, she rose from his side and exited the room. He lay there for one more lazy minute, squinting into the sunlight seeping its way around him. Then, with a sigh, he tossed aside his covers, slipped into the silky cloth of his garb, laced his fingers about his sword, and went out to practice his jousting.

God's Call

2009-04-11T22:28:00.000-07:00

Back when I was still considering many missions' trips, I must admit that Satan had me sort of frozen in a clutch of fear. I was so young, and a foreign missions' trip was so long to be away from home. What if something were to happen?

And yet I felt God calling...me? Timid, shy little me? Surely an unadventurous, stay-out-the-way homebody would never survive a week unless it was by Divine Providence!

Just the other day, however, God stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't just me He was calling...it was everyone.

Yep. You. Me. Great Aunt Jane. The guy across the street who has a Jesus bumpersticker on his motorcycle. All of us- no matter where we are, of what social status we are, or what we're doing- if you are a born-again Christian, then you have specified orders from God that you are to go out and spread the Word in whatever way possible.

Now, I'm not saying that you have to go face a tribe of head-hunters that happen to be armed with...well, let's just say less than comforting accessories. What I am saying is that you must listen and be able to distinguish God's Voice from among all the other voices we hear in our world today. You must learn to ascertain what He's saying, where He's telling you to go or whether He's begging You to stay and work for Him wherever You happen to be (hey, and even if you do die at the hands of the head-hunters, at least you'll have died doing something you know God wanted you to do). And, to tell you the truth, nowhere in Scripture does it exempt any of us from persecution. Nowhere that I know of does it say that such-and-such a nationality of Christians won't be persecuted because they were born in such-and-such a country. Given that many governments today protect a person with the promise to either prevent or avenge any voluntary harm upon that individual's body, there is no guarantee that persecution cannot come from elsewhere. Look at how Christianity is quickly declining into the "uncool" category of our culture. With people of conflicting and too often times dangerous worldviews muddling and poisoning us with the trifles and pleasures of this world, our population is beginning to sip that which satisfies their sinful lusts. And, once drunk on those lusts, will tempt and ridicule all those who do not follow their example. It is to these people that many of us are called to reach, and their job- if perhaps less life-threatening- is not much easier than those who go abroad to reach some of the most primitive people groups of the world.

If you should, however, feel God's call to go abroad, do not- PLEASE do not- hesitate as I did. You will not only be wasting your time, but you will be out on some of the coolest God-moments of your life. Perhaps not the least of which is the new courage and strength He will give you.

And if you're thinking you're not perfect for the job...you're right! No one's perfect. You're going to trip- you might catch yourself, you might not. But the glorious thing is that God knows we're imperfect. He knows. He knows we'll stumble. He knows we'll fall. And yet He chooses us to carry out His perfect plan. That's a miracle within itself, is it not?

So my point (or, rather, God's point since He's the One doing the calling) here is that there really is no excuse for us not to be ministering to each other- whether it's to the man who sits next to us on the subway, our friends at school, or some remote tribe to which God has just been telling you to go to. He calls all of us. Even the timid, shy ones. He created us the way we are. He loves us so much that He sent Jesus to die for us so that we- who were imperfect for that as well- could live forever with Him if we just believe. Through our imperfections, He sees Christ. And will those you mission to if you are right where He wants you to be.

Guatemala!!!

2009-04-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

Hey, ya'll! So I believe I mentioned in my last post that I wanted to go on missions' trip this summer. Well, I am pleased to announce that yesterday we sent a little something out in the mail...a little something addressed to Wycliffe Bible Translators in Dallas, Texas.

About a week ago, my mom visited the Wycliffe Bible Translators website and took a look at what their teen missions' trips were like. Now, in case you're not familiar with Wycliffe, they are an organization 100% devoted to the concept of the Good News of Jesus Christ being available to every man, woman, and child in his or her native tongue. They employ missionaries to take the gospel into the farthest corners of the earth to teach and translate everything God has to say to the local people. This has an effect that we could never comprehend- can you imagine being a Christian and not knowing a word of the Bible? Obviously, the Bible in forms that make it accessible to anyone on earth is a must if the spread of Christianity is to effectively continue.

Anyway, the Wycliffe Bible Translators site is where we found something that caught my attention...an all-teens' trip to Guatemala.

This is more than just a tropical summer escape, however. Once we arrive in Guatemala City, we will begin a study of K'anjob'al- a Mayan language! After that, we will fly to Huehuetenango, where we will meet two missionaries, who will explain to us how God's Word is forever changing individuals and communities. San Miguel Acata'n will be our next destination, where we'll lodge with real K'anjob'al families, eat their food, work with them, and speak to them in their native tongue so we will develop a good grasp of the language before we head for the Zaculeo ruins and Lake Atitlan, which just happens to be the place where the founder of the Wycliffe organization first worked with the Cakchiquels to translate the Bible into their own language!

Now that I've told you what I'll be doing, I have some prayer requests for you- First and foremost, that will be light for God, secondly, that I'd get accepted, and thirdly, that God will provide health, finances, and whatever else the team members might need. Thank you very much!

SOO Excited for this Summer!

2009-03-26T21:13:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt like there was something missing in your life- something you KNEW God wanted you to do, but you just didn't know what it was?

That's exactly how I felt as I looked ahead to this summer- the very last one I'd have pretty much open before I had to concentrate on sending out college applications. But instead of wasting my time "enjoying" one of my final summers at home, I wanted to do something that would bring glory to the Name of God and leave a lasting impression on the world.

People often say that we only live once. Usually, they mean do whatever you want. Drown yourself in pop culture. Eat junk food. Party 'round the clock. And, for pete's sake, avoid the word tomorrow like it would inject you with a new renascent bout of the bubonic plague!

On the flip side, we only live once. God has given us this time and this chance- this one chance for us to prove our love and dedication to Him. What will you be spending your one life doing- wasting it on your pleasure or impacting the world for Christ?

Last night, I decided that this was it. I stand teetering on the brink between a child and an adult. The final hours are ticking by as I glance nostalgically behind me then summon enough courage to peek down at the deep, mystical waters below me. It will not be long now. In a matter of moments, I will lose my foothold on all I've ever known and plunge blindly into the waters in which God ordained me to swim.

But now, I believe, I am ready to take the preliminary dive.

Ever since I was a little girl, I can remember saying "I want to be a missionary when I grow up." I was around five at the time, so people would be surprised that I knew what the word missionary meant. Not having accepted Christ as my Savior yet, I am now not sure that even I knew what it all entailed! My point is here, however, that ever since I could define a missionary as "people who tell other people about Jesus", God had sown seeds into to my tiny little heart. And through the years, those seeds began to blossom (even later in life when my dream job became a farmer's wife, the idea of being a missionary never fully went away).

Now, I feel a strong inclination to share my faith with others, make Christ-like impressions on those who otherwise might not ever have heard of our Lord and Savior, and leave a stamp of tender sweetness, servitude, and hope upon the lost lambs of God. With my pen ever at my side, I know that this is what I want to do with my life.

So I decided not to spend this summer in vain. I have promised myself something I've never dared to do before. I'm going on a missions' trip. Where and through what company I'm leaving up to God, but I honestly couldn't imagine a more productive, God-glorifying, educational, and enjoyable activity on which to spend my time. After all, if I think that a life of feeding God's flock and serving his sheep is my calling, why wait for college? Why not give it a shot?

Another thing Mom and I are wanting to do is a local outreach program our church orchestrates called Outbound Ministries. America is in desperate need of change, so why not start by sharing the Gospel with the lowliest of the low, those who have the misfortune of ill health, etc.? It is these lives that- since only a miracle can turn many of them around- will be the most noticed by our citizens.

The problem with American Christians is that we're complacent. We know what's wrong...we talk about what should be done...what we'd love to do about it...and yet what do we do all day? Eat. Sleep. Get whatever we have to do over with as quickly as we can. Turn on the TV. Turn up the stereo- you name it, we do it. But what we don't realize is that in doing so we're really allowing Satan to walk all over us. We're doormats for the very feet so eager to run into the clutches of sin.

I just have one question for you...if God told you that tomorrow was your last day on earth, would you act any different? Of course you would! So would anyone. The catch is...what if tomorrow is your last day? There's no way of knowing that your car won't get in an accident next time your cruising down the highway. There's no way of knowing when Jesus will return. Life doesn't come with a moneyback guarrantee. Either you do something great with the time you have or you don't. Your choice.

I'm also planning to really get serious about my writing this summer, since I have a goal to have a book contract in my hand by this time next year. In case you don't know me that well, for the past four years, writing has been something I love doing. There's nothing like sitting down with a pen and paper or at a keyboard and just letting your thoughts run and then pulling those thoughts into a hopefully cohesive and well-written story. I also love the sound of words when their strung together in a pattern that's inventive, unique, and original. Plus, the published word reaches thousands and perhaps millions. What could be a better way of sharing my faith than to weave it into the pages of a book?

Of course, not all of my summer is going to be hard work- I'm going to take a little time for myself as well. For instance, in approximately 7 hours and 50 minutes, Mrs. Jolly is going to getting online to book six Jonas Brothers concert tickets for Philadelphia on July 23rd. Katie, Ellen, Lauren, and I are all HUGE fans of these three guys and Bekah's comin' along for the ride, so we are planning on having another trip to New Jersey packed with music, swimming, slumber parties in the RV, and all that sort of fun!

My Sweet Sixteen Surprise

2009-02-22T15:57:00.002-08:00

Bending over a pad of a paper, I sat on the couch, busily scratching away a letter I was writing as Constance Phelps, the character I'm going to play in our co-op's annual production. Creeping into the corners, yellowed light crawled over the expanse of the floor. My parents reclined at a desk, conversing with each other.

"Do you think we should tell her?" Mom said, looking at Dad. He nodded a slow, casual consent.

"Tell me what?" I asked.

She turned to look at me. "We planned a little surprise for your sweet sixteen...do you want to know what it is or do you want to be surprised?"

I wasn't sure. What do you say? If it's a surprise, then don't you want to, well...be surprised? At the same momen, however, I was held captive by an insatiable curiosity.

"Just let me guess," I finally said.

I guessed quite a few things- Jonas Brothers tickets (well, Dad DID use the hint JB in D, and by doing so claimed that for my surprise we were going to drive past the Jonas Brothers' new house in Dallas, since we were staying there at the time), Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (which came from Broadway to a local theater last week), The Phantom of the Opera (based on another of Dad's silly clues- POTO), Broadway, New York City, etc. THEN they proceeded to tell me that all of those things were indirectly related...hmmmm...sounded interesting!!!!!

"The Jollys are coming?" I finally said.

They looked at each other knowingly, making noises that communicated to me my little hunch was correct!

Saying she had been wondering how to make my birthday one that I'd remember, Mom proceeded to tell me that she thought to contact Mrs. Jolly and ask if the girls could come down. But...ssssshhhhhh! They couldn't tell- it was supposed to be a surprise!

That very day, Ellen, whose birthday is six days before mined, had been texting me, saying that it was our b-days soon and stuff like that. Completely unaware that my mother had similar intentions, I suggested that we celebrate our birthdays together. Mom said that my telling her this compelled her even further to e-mail the Jollys.

On Thursday, Ellen saw the e-mail. Calling to her mom, she asked her if they could do it. Ten minutes later, while on the phone with Mr. Jolly, she gave Ellen a thumbs up!

"I was in shock for like five minutes!" Katie exclaimed as she retold how Ellen had dragged her out of the schoolroom to tell her the news.

So now I sat in a Dallas hotel room, a huge smile tilting the corners of my lips as I absorbed everything Mom and Dad told me. It was unbelievable. Things the girls and I had been talking about but had pretty much written-off as impossible were coming true in an instant! For example, this time they'll be staying for not five days, or six days, but TEN WHOLE DAYS!!!! Also, we had for almost a year been hoping without much hope that they could come to the Spring Ball, which is a Christianized, family-oriented version of the prom that our co-op puts on every year for the teens and their parents. We're all totally excited for that, since going to the Hoedown AND the Ball was initially a "no" for the girls- and now we're all talking about possibly getting up-dos done from someone we know who does 'em cheap!

And perhaps the icing on the cake for me is the movie. Katie and I have a dream of becoming actresses and starring in movies together. And now, we have that opportunity- on a sort of smaller scale, but it's an opportunity nonetheless. The assistant director for our co-op's play sent out an e-mail to everyone saying she was in charge of getting a group of people together to do a local movie shoot. I've been trying to get Bekah to do it for a while, but she wasn't sure. It was kind of disappointing to know that no one I was super close with was going to be on set. And, then....

"I talked to Mrs. Furnish and arranged for them to do the movie," Mom announced.

By then, I wanted to scream. The whole thing was unbelievable! For months, all of these things had been simply dreams to the girls and I- right down to the very time slot being considered and like the exact number of days we had wanted to hang out together (10-14, we had been saying). And now, within a few days, they were all coming true!!!!

So the fearsome foursome (Bekah's stayin' too. She absolutely FREAKED when I told her!!!) will be complete once more. Thanks so much, Mom and Dad! You guys made my- year!!!

A Few Poems

2009-02-15T13:39:00.001-08:00

"I love the sound of words," I announced a couple nights back while standing over a stack of school books in the study.

It's true. Words a certain ring- a music to them. Sweet, subtle, unobtrusive music that fills the soul with awe, sends chills down the spine spine, or soothes the weary at heart. Sometimes symphonious melody is obvious, as when one reads a work of Shakespeare, other times (most exemplified by modern day novels) it is not. But whether prettily pompous or soundlessly sly, there is magic, charm, and intrigue in reading a string of flowing words.

Perhaps the sounds of a sentence display themselves best within the rhyme in meter of a poem. Now, poetry is very difficult to compose, since differing types of stanzas require different rhymes and meters. Many times, the number of lines is regulated as well, so the author only has so much space to express their thoughts! The compact compressment of these ideas straight from the heart and soul of the author polishes and enhances the sound which trumpets forth, however, causing (at least for me) a very pleasant read to occur.

Poetry is also a good way to get your thoughts out, and lately I've been finding myself in the wee hours of the morning (knowing that I'm really supposed to be in bed and must retire into sleep's jurisdiction soon), scribbling down a sloppily metered-out poem. And I just love it. The minute my pencil touches the blank paper and I think of what I'm going to write, I feel as if to pen words is my calling, that something great will eventually come of it- and I know I'd rather spend my life doing it than doing anything else. It's the most amazing feeling in the world, and one that cannot be repeated. Through my first attempts at poetry, I have found a renewed love of words, and I thank God that He has given me this gift because it brings me complete joy. And, once all of life's complications are sorted out on paper, I have a sense of peace.

Since I'm loving this new little hobby of mine so much, I've decided to share a few of my poems with you. Now, don't count the meters because they're terrible, but I hope you will be able to at least try to enjoy my pitiful stabs at perfecting poetry.

And that is All I Ask

Pages empty, blank, and bland,

Taunting me with might,

Daring me to set in hand,

Whatever I may write.

Poem, or prose, or fiction powerful,

Flow from this daunting task.

Whatever it is, may it please God,

And that is all I ask.

I'm Not Your Love (This is actually the chorus to a song I'm writing, but I also passed it as a poem for a Valentine's Day party)

One look in your eyes,

And I know your heart's bleedin',

I've hurt you so deep,

There's no hidin' your feelins'.

I'm sorry I can't be,

What you've been dreamin' of.

I'm sorry for everything,

But I'm not your love.

The Poisoned Pen (more a proverb than a poem)

Writing writ with poisoned pen,

Is better never writ than read.

Gomorrah- First Excerpt

2009-02-10T22:24:00.000-08:00

A pale, dusty dusk settle over the flat, Texas plain. Slowly, the stone-strewn gravel roads drained themselves of the bustling blood sustaining desolate desert life. Mothers gathered their children about them, glancing into the shadows as they corralled them into the house. For a few minutes, dark yellow lights glumly glowed from the homesteads- billows of smoke poisoning the air as they spilled from the stacks. Scents of cooking meat and roasting vegetables seared the atmosphere. Then, with sluggish languidity shades draped over the houses’ drooping eyes, extinguishing the light with its black barricade.

Connor Adams, arm resting on the wheel of an old red truck, squinted into the blackness, counting homes as he passed by. Beyond him, the country yawned on and on, deep and cavernous, waiting to swallow him whole. 1, 2, 3….

Rocks rolled under his tires, jarring his way as he bounced along, headlights plowing their way through the night. 4, 5, 6….

Tossing a nervous glance behind his shoulder, he pulled into the seventh driveway. A slight chuckle escaped his lips as his eyes lighted upon the garage door. Crisp, crimson paint contrasted sharply against the withered planks, which were washed in a cracked coat of white. The red cross, still freshly vivid, bled its pitiful tears, crying out in scarlet drops for the community that created it. Through its middle, it tolerated a terrible black slash, and beneath it, inky, emboldened words made this statement:

“Painted with the blood of the Lamb.”

Connor chuckled again, imagining what the young reverend’s reaction must have been when he saw it. The color had probably drained right out of his enthusiastic, cheery face. He might have even dropped his Bible. Now that would’ve been a sight to see!

Tap, tap!

Jumping out of his reverie, the boy peered out of his window and into the dark, dreary world. His girlfriend, Amelia, stood outside, huddled against the cold of the night. She held her hot pink purse protectively to her being.

Click!

The doors popped open with a press of his finger. Winking at the girl, he gestured to her with a flick of his head. Uneasiness echoed in her gaze, and she turned towards the slumbering house once more.

Knitting his brows together, he bit his lip. She wasn’t usually like this. Something must be wrong.
Beneath the gentle rap of his knuckles, a hollow pound resounded, resonating like judgmental gavel. “C’mon, Amy….”

She faced him once again. Beckoning her inside, he pointed to his wrist. They didn’t have much time.

Uncertainty still rang through her being. Staring at him dumbly, she wavered, swaying a bit with the blow of the wind. A little voice whispered inside her, small and still in this breathless moment- this pivotal choice. It begged her, beseeched her, to go back, to return to her parents, to listen to them, and to never look back.

Looking behind her once more, she sighed. They were sure to find out- bound to find out. She couldn’t hide forever.

Pound, pound, pound!

When she turned around, Connor gazed back at her, his big, brown eyes swallowing her in his snare. Slowly, she reached out, fingers wrapping around the car door handle. She had promised. Given her word. And she couldn’t bail out. Not now.

Pulling upon the handle, she swung the door ajar and climbed in. The worn cushions failed to comfort the squeaking seats, releasing eerie moans from the pit of the vehicle. Quickly, she thrust her purse onto her lap and reached for her seat belt. The heat of Connor’s keen gaze prickled the back of her neck, beads of sweat breaking over the surface of her skin. Sliding the belt into its little receiver, she locked herself into her fate.

She refused to look at him, concentrating all her attentions alluding to somewhere else…somewhere beyond the fragile silence fallen between them. The unknown force fettered her body in tremulous shakes. Peeling back the zipper of her bag, she dove her hands deep inside, probing at the darkness gawking at her through the gaping hole. Lipstick, coupons, wallet….
The subtle drumming of her heart escalated into a wild pound, ringing throughout the perverted night, filling it with the knowledge of their very presence. Leaping nimbly over the contents, her fingers fled about, retreating from the time she knew was not their friend.

She halted. Pressing lightly down, she explored the item found. Plastic molded beneath her touch, mounding only at the bottom. A sigh escaped her lips. It was still there.

“Right,” she said, zipping up the bag and encircling it in her arms once more. Flipping her chin into the air, she set her jaw, staring down the dark cloak smothering the windows with the lack of light. “Hurry, before they see us.”

The ancient motor sputtered and spat, grunting as it struggled to start. Shoving the key deeper into the ignition, Connor’s face convulsed into many lines as he twisted it about. Amelia looked at him, concern creeping past her nervous composure. Tense silence tautened the atmosphere, suffocating them in its close quarters.

Groaning one last time, an outburst of ire issued from the throat of the vehicle, winding its fateful spin through the darkness of the night. The thread of threat looped around the moment, constricting all into the confinements of its slight, slender, knot. Digging her fingers into the seat, Amelia braced herself. Lurching, the engine roared into life, the beams of light before them once more paving their way.

Swerving around pot holes, Connor gripped the steering wheel with a steady hand. Amelia set her jaw, eyes glued to the house hung with the awnings of blackness. Her heart fluttered like a wingless bird, wanting nothing more than to soar, to get out of this mess, to be free. With every passing second, the roll of the wheels sent the building further and further into the shadows. Just a little more now….

They pulled onto the road and, with great stealth, crept quietly away.

Gomorrah- My Latest Book Idea!

2009-01-31T12:21:00.000-08:00

Bienvenindos a la Desperado, Tejas! Or so reads the rotting wooden sign on the land fringing the little Texan town of Desperado. Formed by a friar as a refuge settlement for both American and Tejano (hispanics opposed to Mexican government) families, it waited hand and foot upon the body of Christ, never turning any of the sick, dying, or desperate out of its rickety wooden gates. Advocating simple, submissive, and anonymous obedience to the doctrines taught by the Christian faith- the shining light in a world darkened by the sinister powers of Santa Ana's army.
When outlaws began to hear of the hospitable countrylife conducted in this caring way, however, they began to feign ferocious disease, limping into the town doors in their deceitful disguise. For weeks, the consumed the beds of those wasting into oblivion, coughing, sputtering, and shaking in fevered trembles, simply to awaken one day with complete "healing". Then much rejoicing would break out among the people for the miraculous revival of health. The sick one would go to the church and drop to his knees, but seldom was the either fear or thankfulness to God in his heart.

But he still feared the world. Upon asking a minister, he would remain in the town to "help". At length, mysterious thefts, deaths, and disappearances occurred. The town of Desperado had eaten the poisonous apple of sin.

Now, nearly 200 years later, it is a wasteland of atrophed morals, a dilapidated citadel, its gates now firmly closed against the truth. Criminals roam the roads, undaunted and nearly always unchecked by the police, who have their hands so full they are helpless. Danger lurks around every corner. No one is safe.

This is the home of Connor Adams, a 17-year-old student whose family scraps by through his dad's auto tinkerings, his mom's gas station job and singing gig at the local bar, and his job of washing vehicles at a used car shop. The book opens as he's bouncing down a wide, unpaved street veining through the residential area of the town, counting the old houses as he passes. He pulls into one and his secret girlfriend Amelia Williams hops into the passenger seat. As they drive, he meets one of his friends, and, on Amelia's prompting, they begin to race. Unfortunately for them, tucked into the shadows is the car of Sheriff Blunt, the head of the Desperado police force. She snags them on her radar, and, with lights whirling in the dark atmosphere, gives chase. Connor's friend quickly darts into an alleyway, but him and Amelia are forced to the side of the road, where he tries to shove her into the driver's seat, saying he doesn't have his license. Walking to the window, the Sheriff demands to see it, and when she finds he has nothing to give her, makes a thorough inspection of the car. Upon her return, she asks Connor if this is his automobile, and when he replies in the positive, handcuffs both of them on the charges of illegal driving and car robbery.

However, while sleeping behind the bars of confinement, he sees a conglomeration of shades shaped like wicked beasts crowding around the city and speaking of its demise. His eyes are opened, and a shaft of Light streams in upon the deeds practiced by him and his friends. A voice from above tells him that he is chosen to bring Desperado to her knees...but he only has five days to do it before the staying hand of God loosens the demons, and all that he's ever known is utterly destroyed.

Character Enhancements

2009-01-29T21:59:00.001-08:00

Note- This paper was given to me as an assignment for the academic writing course I am taking. Being instructed to listen to a lecture and take notes and then turn those notes into a couple paragraphs following a specified structure, I naturally chose to listen to a speech given on the very subject I never seem to learn enough of- writing. All ideas presented here are either adapted from or extrapolated on the concepts taught by James Scott Bell at the Christian Writer's Guild Writing for the Soul Conference. To learn more about the Christian Writer's Guild, please visit www.christianwritersguild.com (I highly recommend their courses to any beginning writer. Each lesson is designed to build the knowledge of the craft as well as fuel the fire Christian writers need to feed a hungry world with the feast, love, and hope experienced by true believers. In addition- and to give you some accountability- a professional writer/teacher guides you along the way.). For a more extensive look into Bell's concepts, please check-out his marvelous book Plot & Structure (another must-have), which is sold at bookstores everywhere. For now, enjoy my very first lecture paper on one of my favorite topics- writing!

Characters are colorful beings, shaded by their pasts and brought to light by their present. Woven and spun by their backgrounds, beliefs, and region of living, they are a tapestry of complex threads- nigh on incomprehensive to all but their creator. How do writers manage it? How do they shape beings enriched with varying traits and put them in a story of cohesion? Well, in order to answer this question, I ask you to close your eyes for a moment. Imagine yourself in a room where there are lots people, all chattering amiably about the courses of life. Being with your best friend, he begins to introduce you to all of his acquaintances. During these introductions, you meet one man who particularly catches your eye- your main character. Now, the first question is, what is his dominant impression? What’s his noun of vocation and his adjective of manner? In order to distinguish clear meaning from ambiguity, let’s say that your character is a farmer. That’s what he does- his noun of vocation. What would you picture? Likely enough, it would be some combination of bib overalls, muddied boots, and straw hats. However, the impression of a farmer can be dual. Unless I told you that he is a tidy farmer, would you have any idea that he is clean-shaven and well-mannered with his shirt nicely tucked in? Maybe or maybe not. That’s just the way he is- that’s his adjective of manner. Therefore, although characters are colored by a great many different things, the very first thing we notice about them should be the very first thing the reader does- their dominant impression and adjective of manner.

Layering his noun of vocation and adjective of manner is his background. To begin, let’s start with the very basics. Where is he from? If you’re left scratching your head, allow your character to speak a bit. Interview him and write down what he says using his own voice. Carefully consider your results and examine it thoroughly for any ticks and tocks that illuminate his both his past and present. Do you hear a distinct accent- Southern or perhaps even Midwestern? Does his grammar reflect an education of repute, or do malapropisms and slang words slight his tongue? Once you have that down, delve deeper into his past to flesh out the meat and bones of his composition. Why does he act the way he does? Many individuals and ideas influenced who he is today. Which contained the most potency? Secrets are priceless bits of information to uncover at this stage. Though they are traumatic and terrible to your character, they bring punch and power to the most poignant of tales- and, when they do, they leave the audience with a huge craving for the rest of your story. Therefore, penning the tale of his past deepens this individual you wish to portray, explaining how he became who he is and flavoring him with the spices of life.

Probably most importantly, you must determine your character’s drive and yearning. What does he want (or think he wants)? Yearning shoves drive from complacency into action, so this is essential knowledge that will eventually end up affecting the course of your plot and maybe even the mood of your novel. When yearning clothes itself in the garments of a home, a family, or a job- or any other basic need- you have storyline with the potential for a book readers will pick up and not put down. You’ve begun to play upon their emotions by using a tile in the game of life that we can all relate to. Or your yearning might be something less tangible, such as safety, freedom, or even a peace of mind. Situations such as these tend to extract some of the most memorable inward battles ever to be put to pen. After you excavate yearning, drive is not much harder to discover, since now all you must ask yourself is why your character wants something. However, the two accompany each other, which produces a noisy, clashing conflict. Conflict creates problems. Without conflict, there is no plot, shading and silhouetting yearning and drive in its important shadow.

Although conflict crowns a tale with a golden shimmer, it is her cousin, inner conflict, that spotlights background in the theater of the imagination. Largely comprised of fears, it consists of a battle fought inside the soul. Using whatever the character has gleaned from his past, you must challenge the kernel of truth (which it may or may not turn out to be) he holds onto, possibly wielding what he most desires as a venerable weapon. These endless bouts of self-turmoil give the character a ready and enlivened purpose to lie upon the page, but all the while they can do much more than that. In a slow, unfolding fashion, they allow him to shake and spread his fledgling wings. They let him soar. Thus, by wrenching your character’s wants and beliefs, you weld a sword able to slice your scenes with his innermost soul.

Being the inertia that carries your character from one scene to the next, momentum must not be lacking. Let’s just face it outright- people read to escape. To enter a world free from the cares of their own into the eyes and ears of another whose life is (hopefully) much more interesting. If you’re character spends his time rotting in front of the TV or sobbing hysterically about her condition, however, it’s time for you to stop and think. Is that really interesting? Do you think people care to know another couch potato or, much less, a victim? Though there are certain exceptions, such as when one such character should be forced into a situation they wouldn’t voluntarily be in, readers almost always demand a human being able to scramble to her feet, stare down her fears, and stamp her statement into place. The world wants to see someone who is willing to stand up, make a shout, cause a commotion, and perhaps shake the way they see things. Fervently maintaining an ardor, he or she must remain in character. In order to ensure that this ardor carries through the whole story, pause and contemplate each scene. In every situation they encounter, what would be the most outrageous thing that they could do? Then take it a step further. Expound upon the outrageousness. It sounds unrealistic, right? Well, since it most likely is, try to bring back the emotion 25%. Keep doing this until you reach an intensity level that feels right and realistic for your novel without breaching your character’s personality. In this way, and all the ways listed above, you may enhance your character to the maximum peak, and thus making them more colorful and benefitting your book.

Another Excerpt

2009-01-14T23:02:00.000-08:00

Beams of sunlight spun deceptive patterns upon the cool surface of the tile, bending its light into a thousand enticing hues. The rusted creak of huge oaken doors resonated throughout the hollow room as Arrenia pushed them aside. Allowing them to swing shut behind her, she stopped, rooted suddenly to the ground.

There, a man knelt before her stepmother and Isabel, a cloak as black as a moonless night falling from his shoulders. Stitched in fiery colors of scarlet, snakes slithered in fixed adornment about it. The crimson orbs shone forth, glowing amidst the darkness. Gulping, Arrenia forced her way forward, skimming past the mysterious being to kneel at Illana’s feet.

“You have called for me, stepmother?”

The queen’s long fingernails rattled against the armrest of her throne as she tapped it absently. “Yes, Arrenia, my dear. Please rise and meet Lucrious Orakin, Prince of Sleyvink.”

Lucrious. Every letter of the name hissed down her spine, merging into one large shudder. Whiteness hallooed her knuckles as her fingers tightened into a ball. Her legs began to shake, begging her to flee. Lucrious of Sleyvink.
“Go on, dear, say something. Offer him your hand,” Illana whispered.

Hesitancy clogged Arrenia’s throat, her fluttering stomach almost making her ill. Slowly, she extended a clammy hand forward and forced a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Lucrious.”

With one flourishing sweep, he rose and threw back his hood, his lips brushing her fingers. “A pleasure to finally meet you as well, most beautiful maiden. I have heard many good things about you.”

He brought his gaze up to meet hers, scanning and surveying her. She recoiled, a vague sense of horrified fascination erupting within her. That scrutiny! Where had she felt it before?

Night covered the senses of her imagination. Cloaked figures. A roaring fire. Snakes. Castor pushing her down. Suddenly, she knew.

Cold sweat oozed from her flesh as she backed away

“He has come to ask for your hand in marriage, my dearest girl. Isn’t that wonderful? Think of how the alliance would heal our two nations!”

Arrenia clenched her roiling stomach as the knot within it twisted. Fear pounded upon the drum of her heart. Goosebumps pricked her arms, raising her hair until it stood on end.

Grinning crookedly, he said, “It is true. As soon as I heard of your good deeds and agreeable nature, I set off at once to find you, for I knew I loved you.”

From where she sat beside her mother, Isabel scowled down at him, a look of disapproval etched upon her face. Digging her long nails into the lion’s head carved into her small throne, she channeled all of her anger into strangling the stone creature beneath her hands.

Lucrious glanced at her momentarily as he fell to one knee. “Miss Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia, I offer you my heart- my very life…take it….” He looked at her. “I beg of you.”

She stood unmoved, unable to speak, unable to flee. Cunningness cutting through his gaze, it pierced right through her, the silent screams of his scheming rattling her being. Trembling until she almost couldn’t stand, her mind raced, fighting hard to break through the barrier of soundless noise ringing in her ears.

“Say yes, my dear. We don’t want to keep the Prince of Sleyvink waiting, now, do we?” Illana whispered.

Sleyvink. Castor. Tears pricked the corners of Arrenia’s eyes, pooling about them before spilling softly onto her flushed cheeks. She hung her head. Why, oh why, had she ever returned? Had she just remained with Castor, none of this would ever have happened! She might be dead by now, of that she was fairly certain. But of what purpose was living a life of pain? Even death must be preferable to this torture she now daily knew! Oh, why had she been such a coward? Why could she have not gone bravely to her death?

Oh, Ino, help me! she prayed.

“That is it. You have thought for long enough, dear!” Illana rose and, pulling Arrenia along with her, marched her way down the steps. Taking both of their hands, she joined them together, saying, “There! I give my blessing to this union and hereby announced you two betrothed!”

Arrenia felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, crushed beneath her hopeless plight. Through her blurred vision, she glared up at her stepmother. A small, faint whisper emitted from her mouth. “How could you?”

Cocking her head slightly, the woman replied. “I do this for the betterment of our people, Arrenia. Someday, you will understand.”

Opening her mouth to reply, the girl stammered out indeterminable sounds. Chest throbbing, she struggled to speak, to vent the angered heartbreak pent up inside. Her tongue tightened into a knot of pain, coiling into a knot of pain. Yanking herself free from both of their grasps, she fled across the tile floor.

Illana’s lips curved into a firm line as she watched the girl go, a hard, frigid haze glazing her gaze. The infuriated furnace of her soul flared color onto her cheeks. Muttering inaudible words in ancient Lydacian, she turned to Lucrious.

The corners of her mouth peeled back, sunlight glinting off her flawless teeth. “You must forgive my stepdaughter’s impudence, your Highness. She has endured a rather taxing past few days and is quite exasperated. I shall now depart from you to speak with her. Good evening.”

Spreading her silken skirt its full width, she executed a dainty curtsey. Then, gathering her hem from off the floor, she strode away, calling Arrenia’s name.

Isabel slid from the cushioned seat upon her throne, gliding with conniving grace towards the man. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she approached, her jaw set firm, her features encased in a shell frozen by her cold demeanor. Bending her head slightly, she dug her nails into the fleshy recesses of Lucrious’s face, glaring wickedly at him.

“How dare you?” she hissed.

Grasping her wrist, he drew her in until her breath puffed gently on his features. “Isabel. Dear, cruel Isabel. Beautiful to the eye and dark to the soul. This is part of the plan. Fret not your pretty brow over the whims of its fancy.”

The girl sighed, puckering out her lower lip in impudent detestment. Nosing her face forward, she said, “You poisonous little snake! You loved me!”

Caressing the smooth flesh of her hand, he whispered softly in her ear. “Yes, but Arrenia is now within my reach.”

She yanked away and strode across the room, her chin pointed skyward.

Beams of sunlight spilled over the folds of her flowy dress, clashing brilliantly with the darkness of her material cloud, sparkling upon the sequins sewn into it. Lucrious blinked, blinded by this light. Reeling backwards, he caught himself on his elbows and began scrambling farther away from the sight. Trembles took his body for a reason he couldn’t explain. Thoughts brimmed in his head, bubbling over in his mind. He closed his eyes and turned away, sealing them with a tight squeeze as he replaced light with darkness. He could feel it all around him, enveloping him, as if it wanted to swallow him whole. As the black abyss swam before his eyes, as single Voice rang through his head.

“Don’t,” It said. “Don’t. Let the girl go.”

Suddenly, an image of Arrenia, lying prostrate upon her bed, entered his mind. Pillow catching her tears, she wept and wailed without reserve. Screaming to Ino, she beat the mattress with a relentless fist.

Lucrious smiled. Good! Just as he wanted it.

He clenched his teeth, words forming from behind it. “Never.”

Isabel spun around on her heels. “What?!”

Lifting his lids, Lucrious allowed daylight to flood his vision once again. Isabel stood before him, feet planted firmly upon the ground. Her stare bore through him, piercing his heart and penetrating to his soul. The ferocity of her anger burned through him, leaving his tongue dry and speechless. He hung his head.

She stomped over to him and grasped his chin, forcing his vision upward. Cold and unflinching, she sneered in his face. “What did you say? Tell me.”

Gulping, he attempted to speak. “This is all necessary, my sweet.”

“Just what is necessary?...Tell me!”

Brow arching in cynicism, she peered at him, her silence spinning cords of strength about his tongue, knotting it tightly within his jaws. Triumph crawled across her countenance, lining her features in reveled victory.

Averting his gaze from hers, he began to trip over the words. “This deception…this feigned love-”

Slap!

Stinging zapped through his being, a crimson color surfacing under the powerful thrust of Isabel’s bony hand. He held his cheek, flinching as the after-effects sprawled through his nerves. Rocking slightly, he set his jaw against the throbbing pain pulsing through his body.

“Feigned love, ha!” she laughed in his face. “Don’t think I didn’t see the twinkle in your eye. Am I so hideous in spirit and soul that even your reputation pales in comparison to mine? To what avail is this scheme of yours?”

Inhaling deeply, he flipped up his chin and stared steadily into her eyes. “You wanted to rule.”

Erecting her posture, her vision traced her nose right down to him. “As did you.”

He leapt to his feet, the red hot blood of anger coursing through his veins. With it seizing him in the wild siege of his being, he wrapped solid fists around her shoulders, shaking her with the tremblings of his fierce fury. “Do you have any idea what I have done for you? What I have done for us? Do you really think there is any profit for me in marrying a fatherless Lydacian princess, unless it is to murder her in her sleep?! The medallion is the girl’s most prized possession. Without it she is worthless. I had to get it somehow. What did you expect?”

She grasped his tunic, leaning in. “I expected you to play it fair.”

Locking her gaze in his, he backed her up against a pillar. His heart beat in his chest with every step he took, pumping blood through his veins. Heat scourged his soul as he took her in, the coolness of her fiery quiet fanning the flames, thawing his icy innards. The snow-white skin, smooth and untainted by ugliness’s accursed kiss. The lips of royal ruby, echoed in the feisty fire of fury in her eyes.

Pushing aside a black strand of hair, he leaned in and whispered, “Isabel. Being of beauty untold, of such I will never find again. Did you not know it was of you of whom I spoke? The princess Arrenia means nothing to me. It is your beauty that captures my soul.”

She shoved him away. “Until I discover the true meaning behind your unjust little façade, your words are non-existent to me.”

Moving in, he wrapped his arms about her and encased her mouth in a kiss, his pulse pounding in his throat. She tensed for a moment, pulling back with all her might, battling against the emotions running through her. Second by second, strength drained from her. She fought against it, struggling for her right to stand in her own stubborn will. Parried and blocked by her inner self, her energy waned, leaving her to melt into his embrace.

Feeling her sinews slacken beneath his touch, he released her, caressing her in a cherishing cradle. Sinking deeper into his arms, she cracked her eyes slightly open.

“Fair enough?” he asked.

“I suppose,” she said.

Don't Forget- Demi's Latest Smash!

2009-01-06T20:19:00.000-08:00

Demi Lovato opened her mouth- and electrified the world. Ever since she co-starred with the Jonas Brothers in Camp Rock, this pop/rock girl has ridden the tidal wave inclining popularity. And now, with her precocious debut album, Don't Forget, she leaves us spellbound, breathless- rocking when she rocks and crying when she cries.

This album, in short, from the punky funk of La La Land all the way down to the sweet love ballads, is amazing! Demi's voice absolutely engulfs every single note, and there are very few spots where it could be said to be "weak". For those of you who loved her on Camp Rock, there will be no disappointments as she leaves her mark upon the world of teenage music.

And what a mark it is! She co-wrote most of the album with the Jonas Brothers, tainting it with a taste of the sibling trio's pop-culture pizzazz. Literally, sometimes I'll be listening to a song and be thinking, "I can so hear Joe/Nick singing this!" But for all you Jonas-haters (and I know you're out there), never fear. There's something very unique about the way Miss Lovato delivers each and every song. The girl's got talent, and I doubt her unique style will ever be repeated again.

That being said, here are my top recommendations for you to buy:

1. Get Back- Love this song! Perfect depiction of a girl wanting to renew the good times she had with her boyfriend.

2. Don't Forget- A rather sad song, faintly reminscent of Lovebug with it's slow beginning bursting into a rocky chorus. The heartbreak is so ominous in her voice that I almost cried.

3. Party- Just what it sounds like! A gotta get up and dance beat with fun lyrics. I could definitely see this becoming a dance song in the future!

4. Trainwreck- Wild and sweet- what could be better? In this crash-course song, Demi describes the wreckless and perhaps dangerous boy who holds her heart.

5. Gonna Get Caught- An honest- if brutal- display of the emotions and distrust roused by a boyfriend's cheating frivolity.

Hold Me Tight- My First Song

2009-01-02T19:05:00.000-08:00

"A song?" you might be asking. "Why in the world would a book writer want to write a song?"

OK, so I do usually write books, and probably will continue to do so for a large part of my life. But lately, I've been really addicted to the songs blaring from my iPod, the big speakers in our game room- anywhere! Literally, I drive my parents nuts by playing the same songs nearly every day (just ask Mom). Point blank, I LOVE MUSIC!!!!

So, partially inspired by my friend Ellen's idea to create a band, I decided to combine my two loves into one and just see what I could come up with. To begin, I toyed around with some words that went with a theme I had come up with one day to keep me company through the toils of math. Sounds stupid, but that's just how me and songwriting go- I start singing about a random theme and either add lyrics that rhyme and go great together or throw out the ones that don't. Although I have several other ideas in the works, this is my first song (and the only one that's finished).

Now, just to clear up a few things- I write a (clean) love song because, as a teen, I love being able to (hopefully) construct brilliant phrases that expresses something that both adults and my fellow teens can relate to, even if the frivolity of the first love is fleeting. Actually, growing up SURROUNDED with country radio, watching my mom smooch on my dad everyday, and having completely boy-crazy friends (COUGH COUGH!), a cute, completely Christian love-work has become kinda my little niche. It's true that I have accumulated a lot of info of the falling in love symptoms over the years and use them frequently in my works, but I assure you that I always write with the purest intentions and to the glory of God. I write for no other reason other than that and hope that my work will never be taken as otherwise.

That being said, here's my very first song- Hold Me Tight. Enjoy!

Take my hand,
Draw me near,
I want to feel you close to me,
Right now, right here.

Clouded skies,
Starless night,
Tell me why, oh why, we keep on,
With this fight?

So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.

And hold me tight.

Just hold me tight, Baby.

This distance,
Keepin’ us apart,
I want you, I need you,
With every piece of my heart.

So come close, Baby,
Cause I can’t breathe, I can’t live,
Without you.
But if, only if,

You’d pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.

And hold me tight.

Just hold me tight, Baby.

Oh, Boy,
Is this how love goes?
So broken, so shattered,
My heart just needs to know.

But if you’d just put your arms around me,
It’d be all the answer I’d need.

So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
And maybe, just once,
Tonight will be alright.

So hold me tight.

Just hold me tight.

Blood of the Lamb Excerpts

2009-01-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

Just some more of my book. Enjoy and feel free to critique!

Stillness stung the silence, injecting an eerie atmosphere into the inky black vault. The clouded sky stretched overhead as Lucrious stepped out into the cool night air, the lantern he carried pricking the darkness with a patch of light. Delving his hand into the inner recesses of his cloak, he produced a small sheet of paper, neatly rolled up and fastened with string. Nudging the bird along his arm, he secured it to its leg, mentally rehearsing his carefully crafted plan. A cold smile crossed his face as he released the bird into the air, whispering, “Fly, friend, fly with the speed of the wind!

He remained on the balcony, watching until the darkness absorbed the little black speck flying in its midst….

Isabel stirred the fire in the hearth, the sight of it surging forward and lapping the stone walls delighting her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the smoke to rage through her nostrils, burning them with the ferocity of the stench. Reaching up, she felt along the upper shelf, probing into its contents until she struck a single bottle. Bringing it down, she gazed at it steadily, studying how it bubbled and churned, listing crazily from one side to the next. She nodded, the cork coming off as she twisted it about.

The liquid drained slowly from the bottle, hissing hideously as it entered the kettle over the flames, the scandalous scent of scourging chemicals permeating the air. Speckling some spices into the white palm of her hand, she tossed them into her creation.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

She sighed, striding over to the window to face the intruder. Thrusting back the windowpanes, she opened her mouth to unleash a hail of curses in ancient Lydacian. But the words clogged in her throat, and she immediately forced them down when she saw who it was.

“Liarino macia keria, my little one,” she whispered. “Yes, you must keep more quiet.”

The bird hopped into her outstretched hand, extending to her the leg burdened with the message. Firelight dancing of the glazed surface of its dark eyes, it cocked its head, staring at her with intimate expectancy.

Loosening the knotted string, Isabel separated the paper from the limb, cradling the precious object in her fingers. Setting the bird in its cage, she locked it behind bars, allowing it to peck at the feed filling its bowl.

Trepidation sending trembles through her being, she fingered the rolled message, unwinding it with slow uncertainty. Quivers traversed her body as the fire’s flames glanced off the letters scripted in bold, scarlet ink:

“YIN NIKAN LEIN MWOK. REWT NITI TA YIN.”

“I can get the medallion,” she repeated aloud. “Leave it to me.”

Chapter #12

Arrenia stabbed her sampler, thankful for the quiet company of her faithful friends. The incessant sound of the clock reverberated through her, ticking off time with maddening monotony. A tear slipping from her eye, she brought the needle up and delved it deep into the stitchery once more.

She sniffed. How many times had she cried now? Countless it must be, by her reckoning. How many droplets from her bleeding eyes had dribbled down her cheeks unnoticed? Too many, she was sure.

Oh, how lonely could the world become before the sheer absence of consulate care broke her heart? Those closest to her she now barely knew, so grave and withdrawn they had become in these bleak hours. Silence seemed her only companion- and one for which she was partially grateful.

A knock came on the door, interrupting the constant flow of her thoughts. Smothering the tear with the back of her hand, she whimpered, “Come in.”

A slave girl opened the door and peeped timidly in. Striding to the center of the room, she clasped her hands together, wringing them gently in self-conscious sympathy. “My lady, the queen requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Arrenia sighed. “Please, Seraiah, tell her I am under no presentable state of mind.”

The girl’s gaze refused to meet her own. “My sincere sympathies, Miss, but Mistress said it was impertinent to your future.”

Hanging her head, Arrenia sighed. The heartache weighted her being with its leaden burden, dragging her spirits to the ground. Trembling with every move she made, her body atrophized beneath the heftiness of it, fading with every fleeting second into sheer collapse. She massaged her brow with thin fingers, trying with all her strength to beat back the waves of tumultuous thoughts crashing in on her.

Her future! What more was life than a series of inevitable pain? Of storms hailing curses, and rain spilling from the sky? All life had ever done to her was take away. Why should she give back to it?

“Everything I ever lived for is gone. Whatever happens to me now is of little matter.”

Callused hands enveloped hers as Seraiah knelt at her feet. “Oh, my Lady, don’t say that! Your life matters very, very much!”

“In what way? Tell me…I would like very much to hear.”

Exhaling, she stroked the skin of her mistress’s white hand. “I know you miss your father, Arrenia. We all do.” Her hand stopped as her fingers wrapped securely about the girl’s knuckles. “Without him many of us wouldn’t be here. Without him Lydacia wouldn’t be where she is today. He was kind. Generous. But, above all, he fought fearlessly for justice and what is right…not unlike you, Arrenia. The people need you. They need you more than you know.”

Arrenia bit her lip, attempting to force down the tears now pouring across her face. Someone saw her pain! Somebody cared!

She wanted laugh. To shout her emotional joy to all who might be around. Tossing her arms around Seraiah’s neck, she wept upon her shoulder, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Will you come?”

Arrenia let go and straightened her back. Smiling slightly, she said, “Tell my stepmother as shall come as soon as I am able.”

Standing, Seraiah smoothed her simple frock. “I will do that, my Lady.”

When the girl left, Arrenia rose to her feet, slipped on her courtroom gown, and glided over to the door. Pulling it aside, she stepped out into the hall, the first warm rays of hope shining in her soul.

Blood of the Lamb Excerpts- Catching Up

2008-12-21T18:33:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I appologize for not posting a lot of my works lately. I've been very busy with drama, school, friends, etc (excuses, excuses, excuses!). Anyway, I HAVE done more work on The Blood of the Lamb, so I wish to update you on everything with these new excerpts. Here they are, so enjoy!

The oaken panels swung back, revealing before them a colorful court of nobles, adorned with the luxuries of the lands. Men and women alike, their little children clinging to them, lined the aisle. Near the back of the room, standing imperious over the others, a throne sat. And embraced by its cushioned comfort, Illana, Arrenia’s stepmother reclined, flocked by her daughter Isabel on one side and a slave from the exotic corners of the world on another.

Inevitable chatter rang incessantly through the air, interrupted only when all pairs of eyes, some nearly blinded by age, others having not yet seen the fruits of their days, turned upon the guard and the small, frightened girl he led behind him.

Arrenia hugged herself, looking into one emotionless face and then the next. With every sense, she felt their sharp pity. Noble after noble, lord, lady, and child alike- their large, sad eyes- burdening her with despair’s ready trust, until she stumbled, catching herself upon her hands.

Like one big wave, the sea of courtiers rose, their gasps eliciting her from her reverie. Warmth rose in her cheeks, and she scrambled to her feet, covering the remaining distance to the throne in long strides. Her eyes remained on the ground, her hands folded in front of her. She clenched her teeth together, subduing the tears tugging at her eyes. So, crushed beneath the world’s conflicting weights, she crumpled to the floor in front of the queen.

“Your Majesty.” A mere quiet tremble it was, but a tremble all the same.

“Stepdaughter, you have returned. What a pleasure to see you again.”

Arrenia opened her mouth, searching her brain for the right words. Several rose to her tongue, but the leaden lump in her throat choked all sound. Nervousness twisted her hands into a tight ball. Seconds dragging on, the acuteness of time stabbed at her soul. Silence sung of the expectancy of the court, ringing in her ears louder than any melody. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she raised a pleading look to the queen.

Arching her thick brows, the woman said, “Well?”

Arrenia held her sorrow in with soft little gasps. It was all she could do not to cry.

Sliding from her seat, Isabel moved with graceful strides over to the grieving girl. Her midnight- hued robe carpeted the steps, the silver stitched crescent moon glittering dully in the light of the large chandelier. The schism of speech deepened and widened with each lengthening moment. Forcing it upward, a cold bony finger poked at Arrenia’s chin.

“So cold…so dark…so sad….” Isabel whispered. A cruel smile tipped the scarlet corners of her mouth. “Mother, perhaps we should give her a bit more of a…well…warm welcome.”

Black curls swung in Illana’s face as she shook her head. “No, darling. I think it best that she hear the sad news in front of the court.”

Arrenia’s heart pounded in her chest, beating like a booming drum until she knew everyone could hear it. Chills rattled through her body, shaking her with the intensity of their ruthless ravage. More sad news? Her mind ran wild over the possibilities each idea worst than the next. She set her jaw, trying to shun them from her thoughts all the while bracing herself for the awful truth.

“But of course,” Isabel said. “I simply thought that she might need a bit of comforting. I, after all, know how hard it is to lose a father…let alone a brother…on one night. But, as always, you are in the right, Mother. It would be good for her to be crowned before the people, since it was, after all, the people’s decision to place her upon the throne. Besides, she would have hundreds of people to share her misery with.”

Shots of pained grief ran through Arrenia as stared into the dark eyes of hypnotic deception. Drenched in doleful mournings, her stepsister’s voice was. But the statuary masquerade of stone-faced sympathy failed to conceal the truth. The eyes staring down into her own twinkled in the merriment of their wicked amusement.

A slow tear meandered down her cheek, wandering aimlessly until it fell into the palm of her hand. Her jaw clenched against the sharp throbbing of her heart, she studied the girl.

Isabel. Bewitchingly beautiful Isabel with her bottomless promises and pretty words! She could say anything, unchecked and unlimited by the world, and her people still revered her radiant beauty and held her in high esteem. She could cut and hurt all she liked, and the land would never see past her pretty pretense. With every laborious pound of her wounded heart Arrenia recalled an instance when Isabel’s slicing sayings had gone by unpunished. And with her brother gone, she found herself trapped, cornered, and hopelessly helpless in the arms of her only family.

“For that is what you would want, someone to commiserate with, is it not, little sister?” The smile widened, revealing flawlessly white fangs.

Arrenia pulled herself free and fled down aisle, hands covering her face, shouting behind her, “Get away from me!”

A Lamb stepped from misty fog of sleep, entering into the old scholar’s mind. The trees around him creaked and swayed, their old boughs nearly breaking under the breath of a light wind. A deep, strange sound of wailed distress resonated in his ears as the Creature approached, as if the very depths of the trees were calling out. Their boughs lashed at the air, their leaves falling to the ground in a flurried frenzy as the sound escalated. Bewildered and afraid, the scholar curled into a tight ball upon his mat.

But then the clouds rolled away, and a facet of moonlight struck the Lamb, playing briefly upon what He carried in His mouth. It glittered and glowed, projecting its beauty throughout the forest. He dropped it gently into a soft carpet of lush grass and nudged it toward the man.

“The time is right. Give this to the one who shall conquer.”

“It will be done, my Lord.”

With a start, the old man jumped from sleep. He stared around the cave, eyes skimming the shadows spun on the wall. The hearth hissed its harrowing farewells as the flames vanquished in the ashes.

Chill pierced the ancient one’s skin, penetrating deep into his bones. He pulled his blanket closer about him, the scratch of the worn wool soothing to his soul. Like a languishing light, the dream faded from his view. The moonlight. The trees. The forest. Even the golden glow emanating from the object.

But the voice was still there. Still, silent, and insistent, it sang its message in his ear. Like a lute on a summer’s eve, the resonating notes flowed through the air. Beating out all sound. Making it the only voice to be heard.

Tossing his blanket aside, he stood to his entire hunched height. His walking stick forever tapping the ground, he probed his way through the darkness until he came to the door.

Rap, rap, rap!

“Cora!”

An old cracked voice croaked its way down the hall. Cora threw her shall over shoulders and picked up her candle, allowing the light to crawl into the corners. Her feet sped over the ground, guided by the call of her master’s voice. She stopped in front of the door and rattled the knob.

“Is all well, my master? Are you ill?”

The age-marked hinges screeched their protest as the door was drawn inward. Candlelight leapt upon the scholar’s face, its dancing spark tracing every line furrowed
hardships of the past.

He waved his hand. “No, my dear. I am quite well. All I ask is that you take me to the library. I…have a sudden urge to be among my books.”
The young girl bowed her fair head. “Anything you wish shall be done.”

While they traversed the narrow hall, the elderly gentleman’s hand searched the inner recesses of his sleeve. Extracting a ring of keys, he fingered them one by one.

The passage yawned and stretched before them, an endless twisting trail leading deeper into the heart of the cave. A soft draft of wind blew throughout it, sweeping dust into small flurries before gently setting it down again. The candle flickered and wavered, but never went out, firmly standing its ground in the breathing battle that threatened to put it out, leaving the world forever in darkness.

Gradually, they came upon an old wooden door, cracked and splintered from centuries of use. The scholar stepped forward and nudged it with the palm of his hand, forcing it to squeak open. He squinted into the dark recesses, his age-impaired vision unable to grasp the form of what lay beyond.

“Place that candle in the alcove there, Cora….Thank you, that’s much better.”

Illumination haloed walls lined with bookshelves, revealing the forsaken religious writings- the laws by which all of Sleyvink used to run. Books of the ages, abided by men and women of years ago, now stood beneath the layers of dust, heeded by only those called to the prehistoric priesthood. They cluttered the desk and carpeted the floor- wisdom untapped by all but the very wise.

The scholar, leaning upon his cane, limped over to the desk. Half seeing, half feeling, he traced the inner edge down to a small drawer. Fingering the key, he inserted it into the lock and twisted it with slow surety.

Click!

The compartment sprang open, its single content glittering in the candlelight. He removed it from its resting place with reverence, staring in awed silence as he held it up. Then, in hardly a murmur, soft speech whispered past his lips. “The half medallion of the Lamb, our Lord and our Light. Blessed be ye, for ye will take part in the redemption of mankind!”

With that, he closed his withered hand about it, sending up a silent prayer. Oh, Lamb, keep it safe. Let the bearer who is chosen serve you well, for long and dark is the road ahead of him!

“How may I serve you, my master?”

The man shuffled back towards the doorway and grasped the girl’s shoulder. “Run Cora. Run all the way to Sleyvink. Tell the king that I have a great prize for the tournament. Say it is a great prize, and it must be given to him who will conquer.”

Clouds of gray hovered over the city of Sleyvink as the solemn procession made its way through the gates. Women lined the streets, their children before them, watching warily as the weary travelers rode by, trying to spot loved ones.

From his mount, Castor looked upon the bereaved expressions born by the passersby, and he knew why. Although they had succeeded in destroying a good part of Lydacia’s defenses, many lives lay wasted upon the cause. The newly widowed broke out into wailing as the last of the men rode by, marking the somber city with their screams of grief. Some knelt upon the ground, tossing handfuls of dirt into their hair. Others, weeping, fed the last of their coins into the hungry hands of magicians and fortunetellers. One girl of about fourteen even tugged on his leg, begging him to run her through with his sword and end her misery. With a slow shake of his head, Castor urged his horse on, his mind made up. There was no joy in the city of Sleyvink.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” a young voice shouted above the commotion. A girl shouldered her way through the multitude, her carrot red hair like a streak of sunshine in the sea of black scalps. Guards closed in around the king, making his passage nigh on impossible. Castor reined in his horse, a reminiscent pang of pain pounding in his chest. That hair. That long, golden-red hair.

Sweeping his lids with a swipe of his hand, he shook his head. His heart burned deep inside his chest, tingling every nerve with the tale of its lovelorn sorrow. He closed his eyes, trying blot out her memory with endless black bliss. The blood sizzled in his veins, the scorching simmer scourging him as it coursed through his body.

Setting his jaw, he clenched his fists. He must compose himself. Was he not a warrior? She was a woman! Had he not fought stronger foes than this?

Oh, but what a woman! Sweet and shy, and yet he sensed something else, some inner resilience. His pulse quickened as she danced across the field of his imagination.

A tug came upon his mantle. “My liege! My liege!”

With bittersweet sentiment, he opened his eyes, allowing reality to flood through him. She was his past. This was his future.

He looked down at the fair-haired girl and forced a grin. “Hello, Cora. What errand gives us the honor of meeting once again?

“’Tis my master, my lord. He has a very important message for his Majesty the King, but the crowd is so large I cannot reach.”

“Then I shall deliver it for you.”

She gripped the strap of the horse’s girdle, pulling herself closer in, the tone of her voice tumbling from its wild shout to a scarce whisper. “It’s important. Too important to be made known here. Allow me to accompany you to the palace. Please. The message must go to the ear of the king and none other’s.”

Castor pressed his lips into a fine line of indecision, eyeing up and down the girl who struggled to keep step with the trot of his steed. She had always been good and gracious to him and his family. True, she had never cared much for Lucrious, but, come to think of it, neither did he. No sword or bow adorned her person, only a small, traditionally-stylized hunting knife which accompanied all Sleyvinkians whenever they should fancy to leave their abodes and venture into the robber-ridden streets. The corners of his mouth began to tip into a smile, and he held out his hand to her.

“Fine then. Accompany me you shall. But I shouldn’t dare to let a lady go on foot.”

She took his hand, and he hoisted her behind him, instructing her to fasten her grip about him. Through the thoroughfare they ploughed, the scars of war reflected on the saddened expressions. Castor didn’t dare to look at destitution’s deathly face, preferring rather to concentrate on the crude castle before him.

Lurking in the looming shadows elongating across the abandoned hall, Lucrious pressed an ear to the wall. Its rough, sharp cold sank into his cheek, biting it with all its forbidding ferocity. His mouth curved into a sly smile as muffled mumblings emanated into his ear.

Surreptitiously spying, the painted eyes of his ancestors looked on as he softly stroked the smooth, black feathers of the bird perched upon his shoulder, speaking to it in inaudible undertones. The sly, cutting words flowed from his tongue, sifting slowly into the winged creature’s brain. It cocked its head, watching him with hypnotic attention, their gazes locked in comprehensive communication. Nodding, it soaked in the ancient Sleyvinkian language, assimilating everything into its memory.

The shadows suddenly summoned him into their depths as the door creaked upon. As candlelight crept into the dark corners, he pressed himself back, seeking to become one with the dull stones upon which he sought shelter. Covering the beak of the bird with his hand, he waited, his breath drawn in with slow, shallow drags.

His father exited the room, his wife striding with graceful pride beside him. Their words slurred together into a low hum as they sped from their lips, urgent and barely above a murmur.

Behind them, a second flicker of light fanned its way into the world. Cora came quietly, her thoughts masked by the blank white slate of her face that was determinable in the darkness. She cradled a scroll in the crook of her arm. Lucrious cast his eye upon it, its scarlet thread glowing crimson in the candle’s glow.

Cold chills cut through Cora as her arm snagged into the snare of an unseen grasp. She stopped, not daring to breathe, not daring to move. The taut, terrible grip constricted her flesh, her hand turning the ghoulish gray of marked demise. Goosebumps pricked the surface of her skin as shadowy silhouette engulfed her own. Eyes warily watching, she tensed, bracing herself for whatever must come.

The wind howled through the open window, tumbling into the corridor, its ferocity unchecked. Swept away by its murderess breath, the candle flickered faintly, then went out. Darkness crowded Cora’s mind, seeping into her soul, dilating her senses until the very stones had eyes and the people portrayed in the tapestries smiled schemingly down at her.

“Scared, are you?”

The candleholder clattered to the floor as the whisper slid into her ear. Turning about, she started once again.

A man stood before her, his features cloaked in a robe of mystery. He stood tall and erect, clenching his fingers into her. Out of the cavernous depths of blackness which covered the eyes, beaconed his glare. His nose and mouth jutted from the darkness, glowing a rotting white in the moonlight. She stepped back, her gaze fixated upon him in horror.

He extended out a pale, fleshy hand to her, the bird upon his shoulder squawking hideously. “Don’t be afraid, little one. All I wish to know is information. What is you are holding?”

She stepped further back. “It is my master’s. I don’t recall you being among the few that it interests.”

The silence about them screamed of deadly doom. Cora’s ears rang the resonating drum of her heart, her knees buckling beneath the burden of fear. With every recoiling retreat, he took a step nearer, his lips bent in a belyingly cruel smile. His fingers slid over the handle of a dagger.

“My interests are my own, and I know them full well. Give me whatever it is you carry, and no harm will be done.”

With one hand, she reached out, her grip groping upon the stones until their sharpness summoned scarlet drops of blood. Using this as a guide, she slowly began slipping her way into the shadows.

Her mind reeled as she eyed the dagger. All she desired was to be free of it all, to turn and run. But that would be a grave mistake. For that, he could have her hunted down and killed. She clutched the scroll tightly in her hand, wondering whether or not she should relinquish it into his power.

She shook the thought from her mind. A decree of her master’s! How could she? Her jawline tightened, and she stared defiantly into the man’s unseen eyes.

With a blurring movement, the man pinned her to the wall, baring the blade of the dagger against the pumping pulse of her throat. It bore into her skin, her chest swelling as it blockaded breath. An unheard plea to an unseen God wrenched its way out of her mouth. Sobs rattled through her, soft and seemingly unperceived.

Lucrious leaned into his victim, the edge of words slicing deep into her soul. “Many lives has this blade taken. Much damage has it done. If it did all it then, what is to stop it from doing it now?”

Perspiration pouring down her face, Cora gasped and gagged. Small, red rivers trickled into the groove of her neck, tickling her with a tinge of horror. The night seemed to close in around her, suffocating her in the closeness of its proximity. Seconds slurring together, the moments of her life drained with every tick, tick, tick of her internal clock.

Was it really worth it? Was the secret of the medallion really that great? She glanced from the scroll in her hand back up into his eyes.

Life versus loyalty. Loyalty versus life. Her head pounded until it hurt, the knife ever pressing against her throat. And those eyes, those ever-hidden eyes, boring through the blackness that shrouded them penetrating her skin and slicing to the soul.

“You’d best hurry,” he said. “I’m not going to wait.”

Cora could feel the thump of her heart slowing steadily. She knew she didn’t have much time. The sweat of her hand bled into the paper as she clenched in her palm.

Should she do it?

Burning in her chest, her lungs begged for air. The darkness was closer now than ever, almost blotting her vision entirely. Shakily, she extended out her hand, the scroll tucked neatly inside it.

Lucrious grasped the object and released the knife’s grip on her throat, allowing her to droop gently to the ground. Unrolling it, he scanned it over, a crooked grin sprawling across his face. Stuffing it into his cloak, he exited the room, his wicked cackling accompanied by the crowing of the bird.

Creating Francine Bentley- the Complicated Fraud Facade

2008-12-03T22:42:00.000-08:00

Francine Bentley. Friend to all she knows. Sweet and hospitable. Middle-aged and cultured. Masquerading murderess.

What? You might be thinking, but you read right. A Party to Murder, written S.O.S. (Shine On Stage) drama director Sharon Manacapilli, centers on this deceptively docile individual and her plight to keep the Seven Chimneys inheritance for herself. But, when she hosts a birthday party for her best but ever-forgetful friend Abigail Pennyworth, she finds some of the nosey party guests know a little too much. As bodies are found dead and tension builds, Francine begins to aim the threats at herself. But, with the rest of the curious assortment she calls friends terrified into taking action, can she really keep her secret?

This is the character that I want to audition for. She'll a bit different than any character I've ever done, because her cool calm has to be backed by a motive. Many actors play their lines. If I want Francine, I'm going to have to play my part.

Perhaps the hardest aspect about Ms. Bentley is that she's two-fold- sweet to your face but plotting behind your back. However, she hardly has a minute to herself on the stage where her true nature can be revealed. How is it done, then?

Well, part of acting is reacting. When I said above that I'll have to play my part in order to get Ms. Bentley, I meant that I'll have to shed Brittany altogether for however long I must and step into Francine's shoes. A sweet disposition and a smile can easily be adopted by almost any false personality, but only for a time. Often times our expressions, the way we hold ourselves, the hardness or softness of our eyes, or a habit such as the popping of fingers or twirling of hair betray our true emotions when we do not realize it. And that's how I'm going to play Francine's part. It'll be the subtle nuances- the wringing of hands, the cold probing of her eyes, watching everyone's every move, the reaction to the bodies being discovered, and perhaps even her nervousness when encountered by the police. But when she speaks, all of it will evaporate into an inviting smile, keeping the audience guessing.

And that's probably what I love most about Francine. The magnanimous facet of her role is not what she says, it's the screaming silence waiting to explode when her slyness sits back, watching all even as she schemes the fates of some.

But what's especially hard about her? She's not me at all! In fact- she's just about as opposite me as you could get! She'd be a lot of work, and I'd probably not master her until the night of the performance, but if acting were being who you really are, would it be called acting? I doubt it. Plus I can always thank God for the chance to stretch myself, try new things, and reach for the stars.

A Quick Excerpt

2008-11-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

Arrenia stepped into the palace, a wave of bliss bathing her being, the radiance of her soul resounding through her twinkling eyes. She shed her cloak into the hands of the doormen, elegantly striding forward, face uplifted, arms outstretched. Twirling about, she laughed, watching the bright hues of gold, purple, and scarlet blend together in a brilliant banner of color. Her feet strode gracefully over the marble floor, as if to the measured beat of some inaudible melody. She spun about, her skirt spinning round her legs until she stopped, her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Oh, how wonderful it is to be home!” she said.

The guard tried not to let his troubled emotions bleed onto his face. “Yes, quite…Now come, the queen waits upon her throne.”

They made their way down the hall, Arrenia drinking the familiar sights of her lofty abode. Tapestries dangled from the ceiling, their interwoven threads chronicling important events in the lives of the de la Cornias. From carved out alcoves, candles projected their light into the room. Large paintings spanned the wall, depicting the deceased members of the family with artful clarity.

And it was before one of these that Arrenia stopped….

Squinting in the dim light, she barely dared to breathe. No! It couldn’t be! Was it?
“M…m…my father.” The word issued from her lips, barely heeded. A knot tightened in her stomach. Before the guard could even answer, she knew what the truth must be.

“Dead, my Lady. He has been at peace since the day you vanished.”

Arrenia pressed her fingers into a fist, crushing them with the strength of her grief. Her heart bled the tears she had not the strength to cry. Head drooping between her shoulders, she kept her back towards the guard, allowing a veil of hair to drape over her face. Lids clenched a taut seal across her vision, attempting to shun from her sight the painful depiction of grief masquerading beneath the pretty hues of paint. Pleasant memories flowed across her mind, deepening the wound wrought by wrongdoing. She knew well the slaying hands of Sleyvink had slaughtered her father, obliterating for eternity his smiling face and laughing eyes. The tear in her soul widened, threatening to rip apart.
Why, Ino? Why?!

No answer.

The guard behind her fidgeted nervously. “Perhaps I had best go tell her Highness that your ladyship is awaiting her summons?”

Not even glancing in his direction, Arrenia said, “Of course.”

Haste shuffled him out of the room. With a sigh of sadness, Arrenia de la Cornia sank to her knees. She was alone. Truly alone.

Castor pulled the strings, narrowing the neck of the sack until the ends met. All around him, the busy bustle of people resonated through the camp. Laughter and joy crackled through the air…they were going home.

The boy supposed he should have been excited. Sleyvink, his beautiful home! The streets with vendors calling out their wares, coins flying from one set of hands to another. The incessant voice of the caller standing proudly at his podium, proclaiming the latest news. The grassy plains, dull yet vibrant with untold mysteries and secrets. And the castle looming over them all, tall and foreboding, like a restless centurion standing his post.

He sighed. Where was the magical feeling that used to tug at his insides? Many a time before, he had embraced with great joy the land of his birth- why now did it seem so inferior, so loathsome to return?

“How goes your packing?” a voice behind him said.

“Well enough, Mother,” he said, shrugging the thought from his mind.

Long strides carrying her across the grass, she stood beside him, watching his hands stumble over each other. Arched shoulders slumped limply, his fingers scurrying to and fro, tripping over the items set before him. His gaze remained fixed upon his work, refusing to meet her probing hazel eyes.

“Why so dejected, my son?”

Gulping, he said, “Nothing.”

“Think you can fool me, do you?”

No answer. A small glisten glossed his eyes. Tongue roving over his lips, he stared at the cloth wall flapping in the wind momentarily.

“It’s the girl, is it not?”

Terror’s sharp claws dug into his face, scarring him with their impression. Chill spread from his soul, tingling his nerves and freezing him in his place. The dagger he held dropped to the table below.

The woman gave out a short laugh, slipping her arm gently about him. “I am a mother, dear. Do not think I did not notice how you would light up whenever she walked in the room!”

A fleeting smile crossed the boy’s lips, the warmth of his mother’s jovial manner thawing the cold that held him prisoner. It was not long, however, before the expression vanished, replaced by the redundant countenance of sadness.

“And it is now for her you grieve, is it not?

Nodding, he sniffed. Stuffing the dagger into a bag, he tried to concentrate on his work. He clenched his teeth together, trying to squash her memory between them.

“Please, dearie, not so sad, if it please you. There are plenty of other women in the world.”

Castor sighed. “But I can only give my heart to one.”

The woman stopped, taken aback by his words. Pity stirred her soul as she studied her son, the fruit of her womb. For a moment, she saw his little infant face, hallooed in his swaddling blanket. Sleepy eyes shut tight- the faint sound of a violin, from somewhere in her memory, lilting out a lullaby. Her finger embraced by his little fist…how could this young man before her be the same boy she had cradled in her arms? He had grown so fast- did she even know him?

“Well, the jousting tournament’s in a mere fortnight. I hear it will be Sleyvink’s finest,” she said.

“But I’m not even sure I want to return!”

Her mouth curved knowingly. “Oh, you will be glad enough once you have arrived. And the contest ought to take the girl from your mind.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I’m proud of you, Castor. More proud than you could ever know. Now, if you’ll beg my indulgence, I must return to the King and help him with his packing. I will see you tonight at dinner.”

He paused as she turned away from him. The words she uttered left him neither warm nor cold, but only desolate and empty. Yet sincerity sung through her words. She understood, and in that he could take comfort.

“Very well, Mother.”

Another Excerpt, Part 2

2008-11-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

Note- This excerpt comes directly after the last one posted, and thus is a follow up scene.

A wild cry pierced the air, stabbing into the silence that ensued. Arrenia stood motionless, lids clamped over her eyes, unwilling to witness what she was certain must come. A thousand emotions flooded through her, seeping into the corners of her mind, crowding out her thoughts. The black vacuum of fear swirled before her, swallowing her whole, enveloping her senses. Every muscle tensed and ready, she waited on….

A soft clatter broke through her deafened senses. She opened her eyes. A sword lay on the ground, its keen shine dulled by the lack of light.

Castor grasped the throat of her dress and shook her violently. “I should have you killed for this, Arrenia de la Cornia!”

Tears rippled down his cheeks, blunting the trembling edge in his words. She studied him, attempting to read between the face lined in angered grief.

As the moments sprawled on, a slow smile twitched her mouth into a teasing smirk. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair, raking it back away from his face. “Yet you find yourself unable to accomplish the task, is that it, my dear warrior?”
Whiteness blanched his features for one split second. Then, slipping into a more relaxed state, he laughed softly- a quiet, wonderful laugh that rang throughout the forest, resonating off the trees and stilling the souls of all who heard it.

He tapped her nose gently. “Well said, little one!”

She slid her hand into his, enjoying in the utmost the feeling of his fingers wrapping about hers. For a moment they just stood there, her hand in his.

Castor’s face fell, his grip loosening.

“What? What is it?” she asked.

“The palace…you live in the palace?”

“Yes… What’s wrong?”

“We cannot go there! It is guarded night and day- I’ll be seen!”

Arrenia’s mouth closed, sealing behind her lips a speechless tongue. She drew her fingers taut around his in a voiceless entreaty. She knew what he said to be true. Day and night, the palace was kept under lock and key, a great untouchable fortress to all but those who lived there.

But still, in his care she found shelter from the encroaching corners of the black night, a refuge in which to hide from her troubles and find sanctuary in his presence. Her parched tongue roved over dry lips.

“Please, Castor, don’t leave me. Not now.”

“Is there any other way?”

She paused, cocking her head to one side. Then, after a long moment, she shook it. “No, I know of nowhere else I can go…..But wait- yes! You could just escort me to the gate.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You are sure? I mean, you will be safe from there?”

Her arms extended, she shrugged, a grin pulling on the corners of her mouth. “I should imagine so. I mean, has not my family most probably been searching for me? I believe they shall delight in my return and all but confine me to my room to ensure I do not go traipsing off with the likes of you again! Unless….” The smile vanished from her face.

“Unless?”

Inhaling deeply, she said, “That girl in the ball, you remember her, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Well she is my stepsister, the daughter of my deceased father’s second wife, whom he married after the death of my mother. I have always feared Isabel for a reason I did not know, but now I think I am beginning to understand….”

Her words faded into the night, and she stood silent for a moment, then shrugged again. “But as I said, my brother will most likely put me under the utmost guard as an attempt to maintain my security, so I do not see any reason to worry.”

Castor took her chin in his hand and tipped it up until her eyes stared into his. He felt her jawline tighten beneath his fingers as she tried to look away, but he held her firmly in place. “Listen to me, Arrenia. Think about what you’re doing. You’re walking into the arms of your arch-enemy, in a place you cannot protect yourself even if a thousand men surrounded you. No matter if there’s one guard protecting you or three thousand, you will still be under the same roof as your stepsister, and no one will ever think of protecting you from her.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile as she laid her hand over his. “Castor, trust me, I’ll be fine.”

He shook her gently, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

The breeze rustled through her hair, thrusting it into the air then playfully catching it again. Floating just above her shoulders, it swirled gently around her, concealing her emotions as it crossed her face. Her gaze stared unwaveringly into his, gentle and lovely, yet determined and defiant. She nodded. “Absolutely.”

The blood drained from Castor’s face as his heart plummeted from his chest, leaving him ashen and looking dreadfully terrified. His mind roamed through its recesses, raking through his head for some excuse, some reason to make her abstain from this self-inflicted path. But, as he truly looked at her, noting her rigid, beautiful stoic state, he knew that she had made up her mind, and nothing he said would change her mind. He pressed his lips into a thin white line. “Very well. Have your way, you little warrioress. Just make sure you know how to fight this battle!”

She smiled once again- a big, flawless smile, her eyes suddenly alight, fanning the fire already raging within him. The heat licked at his heart, slowly but surely melting him from the inside out. A grin sprawled over his face, gradually giving way to a gentle laugh. He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, leaning over to whisper in it. “Lead the way, little one!”

Nudging her hand into his, she took off at a fearless frolic, skipping over twigs and with a step of gaiety avoiding nearly everything that would make a noise. He tried to keep up with her, his ears magnifying every resounding snap and chaotic crackle as the earth yielded itself to the harsh beating of his feet. He winced, mental reprimands raging through his brain.

She seemed to dance before him, waltzing with the gentle sway of the wind. Her toes skimmed the ground, the moonlight braided into her hair. His heart pounded out the beat to her every sweet step. Perfectly synchronized, her steps and his heart- so intertwined that one could not be distinguished from the other.

A loud laugh parted the silence. Teasingly tugging at the arm now dangling at his side, she pulled him forward. “So smitten, are you? For a minute you looked as if you wished to drink me in and swallow me whole!”

A slight shade of scarlet colored his cheeks. “Did I?”

Delivering a delicate blow to the arm now hooked in hers, she shook her head in delighted disapproval. “You know the answer to that very well, don’t you?”

A smirk twitched the corner of his lip as he glanced at her. “Perhaps.”

For a long moment, he waited for her to laugh, for that silvery sound to linger upon the breeze. But instead she stopped, her hand tightening about his arm.

“Oh!” she declared, horror plucking the word from her mouth. “Oh!”

She wrenched away from him, dashing from the concealing cover of the forest and into the clearing beyond.

“Arrenia!” he called. But it was too late.

She knelt in the middle of ashen ruins, sobbing bitterly, the charred remains sifting through her fingers. A tear fell from her cheek, striking the ground with a mighty blow, churning the dirt below into mud. Scooping up handfuls of soil, she clasped them to her chest, crying over them as a mother weeps for her children.

Through her blurred vision, she saw a wall, stone-faced and stoic, protecting the once-exposed side of a palace. A wall she had never before seen- and one she was fairly convinced was never there.

“My home,” she whimpered. “My home.”

Still hidden behind the safety of the brambles, Castor hesitated. His heart pounded with every passing second as his mind weighed the odds of being caught should he venture outside of the wood. His mind bade him over and over to not to expose his presence- rather, to run. He had, after all, done what he said he would, hadn’t he?

But, with his own waking eyes he saw her hurt; her wounds lay open for all to see. His heart throbbed as he stood torn, not daring to venture forth yet shamed by his lack of courage in the light of her suffering. Whether it was this insecure abasement or the mind trained in practicality that kept him cowering behind the bushes, he could not tell.

She looked up at him, her hands extended outward as she screamed her bewilderment at him. “Why did this happen? Why?!”

Castor gulped. With every nerve within him, he felt the sharp slice of her words. Tension rolled his fingers into a tight ball, only to let them fall to his sides again. Perspiration burst onto his palms, a heartache hanging deep in his chest.

Him. She was accusing him for the destruction wrought by his people! Didn’t she know he meant her no harm? Couldn’t she see deepness of his affection towards her?

Without knowing what he was doing, he stepped out into the clearing, allowing the light of the moon to wash over him with its silvery glow. Her gaze unwavering, she looked steadily on, her little features pinched in sorrow. He spread his arms wide, hoping she would run into them and embrace the secure refuge he held out to her like a raft in the middle of hardship’s tumultuous sea.

But her face remained a flat and expressionless, a blank slate of emotions besides the stream of tears quietly flooding her cheeks. And beautiful…oh, so beautiful…was she as she stood there, devouring his soul with the flames of her frigid manner and melting him down until he knelt in a crumpled, heart-broken heap at her feet. He grabbed the hem of her dress as he cried out.

“Please, Lady! My people razed your home to the ground- it was not the work of my hands alone!”

Arrenia yanked away from him. “The work one pair of hands or the work of many- it makes no difference now, does it?”

He grasped her shoulder and turned her about. “Arrenia, please, I beg you! Do not think poorly of me. None of this is my fault!”

She glared into his eyes, smoldering him under the heat of her fury. “Your fault or not, this was my home.”

Sighing, he tightened his grip upon her shoulders. Gulping back his sobs, he struggled to find the right words. Her unaverted gaze still stared boldly into his own. And oh, how it frightened him! He tried to recall the number of foes he had defeated, but what had ever sapped his strength more than this girl, who razed his defenses with one look? When it came to battling with the body and defending his life, he had been well trained- but of what art was this battle of the heart, which even now throbbed from fresh wounds?

know?! Do you not see?!”

Arrenia stopped, her curled fists loosening at her sides. Tight muscles released their strain, allowing her taut composure to relax. Through the blinding blur of her tears, she a boy, doubled over in grief and pain- and suddenly her own vanquished into nothing.

She dropped to her knees beside him, the muck and mire of the muddied ground staining the elegant patterns in her dress. Brushing the hair aside from his face, she ran her fingers slowly down his neck until her hand rested on his shoulder. The heaves of his soft sobs ravaged through him, breaking him down and revealing his true heart- and the wounds inflicted by her words.

She looked away, unwilling to see the crafting created by her careless tongue. How could she be so calloused?

“Castor, I’m sorry.”

Like the sound of sweet music, her sorrowful speech lilted into the air- the resounding song of an angel resonating in the night sky. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes- those deep, watery wells swimming in sadness, drowning him in their beauty and caressing him in their care.

And moreover, she was crying. Not for her home, he realized, but for him.

“Please, don’t be angry with me. I spoke out of turn.” She folded her fidgeting hands in her lap and bit her lip.

Drawing his finger across her jawline, he prodded her gaze upward. “Never with you, little maiden… But we mustn’t remain another minute.”

She climbed to her feet, following his suit. “Why? Why not just stay here?”

He gave her a doubtful look as she caught his other hand.

“Think about it, Castor. We could meet here every night just to talk. It would be our secret. No one else would have to know.”

The seconds drawled out into minutes, punctuated by the steady beat of their hearts. Castor clenched her sleeves. Crickets sang their sweet serenade, begging him to agree, wanting him to accept. Stars winked down from their lofty heights, twinkling their mysterious joy. In the distance, a wise old owl hooted his warning.

He shook his head. “No, Arrenia. It’s too dangerous.”
Her expression fell, and she let go of him. A veil dropped between them- two lonely lovers separated by the silence, their disjoined hands hanging limply by their sides. Arrenia curled hers into a fist, bracing herself for the moment she now knew must come.

Castor opened his mouth, only to seal it shut when the words failed to come. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to hold her to him for eternity. He wanted to feel her head upon his shoulder, to run is fingers through her hair one last time. But now all seemed so cold, blocked as they were by fate’s blow.

Suddenly, his ears caught a steady stomp.

“Guards!” he whispered sharply. “I’m sorry, Arrenia. I must be off!”

She jerked her head up in time to see him dash towards the forest. The urge of finality coursed through her veins, scalding her with the strength of its singing heat. She stepped forward. “Wait!”

He turned about.

“When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know, Arrenia…I don’t know….Now run, maiden! Get to your home before we are caught!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you, Castor.”

“Now! Go!”

Gulping down her grief, she nodded. Turning towards the palace, she tried to speed away. But just then, the guard rounded the corner.

With a loud shout that reverberated off the trees and crackled through the forest, he stampeded after her. Within seconds, he had seized hold of her arms and was calling excitedly in ancient to Lydacian to his fellow guards. They swarmed around her, congratulating their friend asking her questions. She answered not a one. Rather, she glanced nervously back at Castor, arousing the attention of the guards.

Castor saw the finger pointed at him and heard babble rabble through the air. Arrenia flashed a warning with her face, and off he took. The men seized the hunt, crashing through the brush in pursuit of their game.

Arrenia stared longingly at the empty scene before her, ears wishing they could blot out the excited exclamations fading on the wind. Her finder held her tightly by the arm. He tugged on her sleeve.

“Lady Arrenia,” he said bowing. “We thank the gods for your safe return. And now, must take you to see her majesty, for the sight of you will set her worried mind at rest.”

Still staring into the distance, the girl replied. “Thank you. I should like to see my stepmother very much.”

A Jolly Time

2008-10-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

Baggage cluttered my feet. Tossed by a grueling 4 hours of flight time, my friend Bekah and I sat side-by-side in the Philadelphia airport, waiting and glancing around in anticipation. Slowly, I rose. Was it? Could it really be?

"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.

We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.

You see, after a year of laughs, midnight movie showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, it was these very dreams we clung to as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night.

And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprang something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.

So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun. As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.

And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.

Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").

And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered on ourselves), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screeching that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.

But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights. Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view.

On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.

After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.

The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.

As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"

Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.

For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.

After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!

Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!

Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.

Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.

Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents and the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.

As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.

Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the RV. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).

The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....

The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.

If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and saw the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.

However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.

But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.

And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Well, not many weeks ago Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!

Got God?

2008-10-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

Crammed into the the backseat of our dodge mini van, I stared out the window, watching as country and cities alike whizzed by. My eye came upon a church, large in stature and mighty in width, a red banner dangling from its side.

30-minute worship service! it read.

For a moment, I thought, Cool, a 30-minute worship service! but then held myself in check. 30 minutes, huh? And we can't give God more than that?

With the rush of today's society and the never-ending demands inflicted upon us by our ever-increasing responsibilities, the clamor created by our busy lives drowns out the quiet, calm voice of God. All too easily, our lives are consumed with the duties bestowed upon us and the insatiable (and unstoppable) demands of this world. With the incoming pressure to fulfill our tasks rising rapidly, our schedules soon become jammed. Soon enough, we find ourselves either looking for a place to fit God into humanity's mad dash or ignoring Him altogether.

Either way, we are fitting God into our schedules, not fitting our schedules into God.

"But how do I do that?" you might ask. "I barely have a moment to myself, let alone to God!"

The truth is, I don't know. I don't imagine any of us do. We want to live inside God's will, but can't stop the earth from turning. It's a hard problem, isn't it?

But, if we look hard enough- explore God's Word just a little deeper- we might find some tricks to help us along the way. The very best that I think of is pray. The Bible tells us we should always be praying- at work, at home, walking the dog, at school, anywhere and everywhere! I believe that if we just got in the habit of talking to God and listening for His voice regardless of whatever we might be doing, we would be so much closer to accomplishing our goal of keeping Him at the center of our lives.

The next idea is keeping the Ten Commandments- and whatever else God tells us to keep. Become familiar with the laws of right and wrong laid down by God, and try to break as few of them as possible. Let them linger in your mind as you go about your daily doings so that they will surface when the time is right for you to put them into practice. And if you mess up, don't worry. Just learn fromyour mistake, ask for forgiveness, and move on with your life.

Another way is to implement everything God says we should be as Christians. These include (but are not limited too) telling others of the Good News of Jesus Christ, being patient, squelching any quick-tempers, loving, kind, and always have a cheerful disposition. Some of these are harder than others, especially the first one. As humans, many of us tend to hesitate when it comes to sharing our faith. Excuses often pop up in our heads. But we must remember that all excuses for not obeying God in any one of the things He commands us to do are irrelevant. After all, what is more important (and rewarding!)- a saved soul or the guilty security we feel from assimilating ourselves into the world?

There is one way of leading people to Christ that is extremely effective. Now, it is understood by many Christians that no one should be forced into Christianity, and that preaching too much to people when they are nto interested often tends to turn them away. This isn't to say that you shouldn't tell people about Christ, just that you need to be able to sense when they are beginning to feel as if you were pushing your religion onto them. And what's really neat about Christianity is that the set of rules given by God, if properly emulated and exhibited to the world, will make some stop and wonder about the difference they see in you. If curiosity leads them far enough, they will ask you about it, and you will have a great opportunity to share your religion with them!

And the best part? You can do absolutely all of this while you work, while you eat, while you go about your errands, at school, etc.! So, you see that if you put God at the center of your life, He will be big enough to encompass everything else you have to do.

Cracking Codes and Catching Criminals- 4 years of Fun!

2008-10-02T13:27:00.000-07:00

You know Brant and I are siblings, teens, and students. But did you know that we're also first-class detectives?

That's right. Gathering around the computer, we step into the role of world-renowned detective Nancy Drew and assimilate information, interpret clues, and interrogate suspects. Every few months, we get a new assignment...which we always manage to finish way sooner than we want to. But how can we wait, when there's a fresh criminal to capture?

Based on the books by Carolyn Keene, Herinteractive has been dishing out games featuring this famous teen detective (and sometimes her friends!) for quite a few years now. Originally created for adventurous girls, these interactive games with top-notch challenges galore have become favorites of boys and girls alike. In every game, Nancy goes to an exciting new location and, before long, has a mystery on her hands.

We got hooked on the games during the 2004 presidential elections, at which time our friend Caroline helped us beat our first case, Treasure in the Royal Tower. Now, four years and 17 games later, we still look forward to the days when the doorbell rings and there's a package on our porch.

Our present case, The Haunting of Castle Malloy, takes place in Ireland, where the mysterious vanishing of a groom-to-be is about to ruin the wedding, which is only a few days away! Some blame it on fairies, others on say it's a practical joke and he will show up at the last minute. Nancy, however, is not convinced. So, as we make wedding programs and seating arrangements, we must uncover the past of an old castle, and figure out not only who is interfering with the special day...but why.

Another Excerpt- Hope you like It!

2008-09-28T16:00:00.000-07:00

Note: Just so ya'll know, a good chunk of this scene is very dark and sinister. The only reason I ever, EVER write in this extremity is if it is necessary to the plot and then only when I am using an allegorization between God and the devil. So, before you proceed in the reading of this excerpt, I want you to know that this side of the story will come out as evil and God's Light will outshine the darkness more and more as the story unfolds.

Smoke curled into the night, vanishing into the dark heavens above. Slowly, the procession snaked around a fire that cackled its menace. Tongues of flame leapt into the air as a dozen figures tossed herbs into its fieriness of its fiendish depths. Arrenia propped herself upon her elbow, eager to get a better look at the scene before her.

“Get down!” came the commanding whisper.

“I want to see!” she said.

Chills ran through her, freezing her to the bone in terrified fascination. One of the figures- the one in whom Castor had taken a peculiar interest in when they first spotted this band of travelers- turned in their direction and started walking forward, seeming to screen the area as if he suspected something. Features wreathed in a cloak of a ghastly wraith, he approached with the aura of an apparition. Horrified thrills ran through the girl as her imagination began to run across its wild plains. Who was the man behind overshadowed with the huge garment? Though fear ravaged through her, begging her to look away, she found she could not.

Castor pushed her head down. “Are you a fool, Arrenia?! They’ll see you!”

Arrenia’s senses sharpened as she felt the cursory gaze scan over her. She trembled, her fear taking full effect. Part of her wanted to know what was happening as thousands of images raced paced her mind. If only she could peek up once more!

She bit her lip. No, no! She mustn’t! Castor was right- she would be a fool.

Time ticked by, seconds inching into minutes, minutes stretching into what seemed hours. There they lay, his hand shoving her head into the ground. Breath clotted in their throats, every sound magnified in the dangerous quiet around them.

At long last, Castor rose slightly, motioning for her to do the same. She peeped over the tips of grass, looking over their swaying heads and at the scene before her.

The firelight spread across the ground, dancing across the figures of the night. They no longer proceeded around the dancing flames, rather they sat in staid stances, heads bowed and knees tucked beneath them. A chant hung in the air, as threateningly quiet and cuttingly clear. In unuttered consent, they joined hands, slowly raising them upward. The chant escalated into a crazed screech. Then, all at once, the scene exploded into a maddening flurry of activity.

Screeching and chanting in turn, the figures beat the ground, flailing their arms and bringing them down. Appearing from nowhere, men emerged from the dark depths of the forest and dashed to the center of the circle created by the figures. Clad in the skins of a serpent, they wove in and out of the menace blaze. Sinuous snakes wrapped about their wrists, writhing to the ecstatic shriek ringing throughout the air. Then, uncoiling slowly, they slithered to the ground.

The figure who had held Arrenia’s undivided fascination appeared at the entrance of a tent, holding a ball crafted of crystal. Sound ceased, plunging all into a silent void. Inside the ball was the face of a girl, her eyes black as coal and hair dark as ash.

Arrenia caught her breath. “Isabel.”

Castor cocked his head, looking at her, only to find her glued to the scene. When she didn’t even give him a glance, he returned his attention to the happenings at hand.

The man held the ball aloft, allowing all to see. Thunderous applause rumbled through the night, drumming in the ears of all who heard. The girl in the ball smiled, flashing flawless teeth into a cruel grin.

Cleaving his way through the crowd, the man approached the raging flames. Setting the ball upon the ground, he probed into the folds of his cloak, producing a small bag. Reaching and grabbing handfuls of matter, he tossed it, watching it be consumed by the ravenous hunger of the hearth. Skirting the fire with slow steps, he began to mutter in a voice of near inaudibility.

“Dytok mika li kaarum,

Mun mika deak sadak,

Nwu li krokum,

Ko mea ka ta,

Oke nalaka megun,

Taka nwu magahata,

Ko mea ka ta,

Oke nalaka megun,

Ko la nwu nak,

Ko la nwu nak!”

Arrenia leaned towards Castor. “What does it mean?”

Without looking away, he repeated it, confusion filling his words.

“Die, they must,

For they do not say,

You are king,

Come here to us,

Oh blessed snake,

Take your revenge.
Come here to us,

Oh blessed snake,

We need you now,

We need you now!”

Arrenia fell silent, the chill of the night suddenly closing in around her. She shivered, the reality of the words penetrating to her bones. They were talking about someone.

The shadows seemed to lengthen and shift, swallowing the ground in their murderous jaws. The wind whispered through the boughs of the trees, its rustling dialect incomprehensive and dreadful. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled to a moonless sky.

Smoke curled into the air, slithering upwards and curving into the form of a serpent. A sharp command split the stillness, and all- even the snakes, even the girl in the ball- fell prostrate.

“Oh, sacred snake! We are your humble servants, as you well know,” the one who had emerged from the tent said. “We ask only your guidance, for we are at a loss for what to do.”

Lids closed over the scarlet orbs that sat in the socket of the eyes. Then, a voice, horrible, hissing, and the epitome of evil, cut through the atmosphere. “Mmmm…you have something to show me, I think…” The eyes opened again, flashing the face with a brilliant black interest. “Yes…you have something to show me.”

Pulling an old sheet of paper from the depths of his sleeve, the man extended it to the serpent. “We found this in a heap of clothes. Oh, snake! You have forever possessed an interest in the fate of the half-medallions. I have presented it before the assembly here gathered, and we have reached a conclusion that you alone should decide what to do about the information presented hence. We come before you, our heads bowed, seeking your guidance. Do not refuse this one request.”

For a moment, not a word was spoken. Arrenia held her breath, her hand upon the medallion which now hung from her throat, wanting to hear, but yet afraid to know.

“Yes…I am interested,” the snake began. “I have sought this for a long time….”

“But what is to be done?”

“This girl of whom you spoke in the past- she is still within your clutches?”

“Yes….”
The snake stretched its neck down until it stared into the man’s eyes. “Then I will give you no second chances. Kill her. Hunt her if need be, but I want that medallion.”

The man dipped his head. “As you wish, Sire.”

Incanted inferno shriveling to a spark, the creature slide back into the fading flames. Castor tapped Arrenia on the back, signaling her to follow him.

With the sounds of the dispersing party ringing in their ears, they inched over the ground. Noises of the night ceased as they gathered grass into their hands, pulling themselves forward. Sharpened by the silence, their sobered senses remained poised, ready for any sound indicating their discovery.

The canopy of trees swallowed them whole, spinning dark silhouettes about them in a protective guise. Once the hues of the hearth of could be seen no longer, Castor stood.

“Right. We must be quick.”

“But where are we going?”

He turned about, staring down into her uplifted little face, ashen and drawn. Her lower lip trembled before she sealed it into a firm line. Long eyelashes failed to veil her wide-eyed innocence. He knelt before her, fully aware of every ounce of trust she thrust upon him. Oh, how he wished he knew how to comfort her! Hadn’t she comforted him earlier that night? She had taken his hands…just like so…but what came next?

He sighed, caressing the little hand now resting in his own. Ravaging his brain, he searched into the recesses of his mind, but all that came out was, “You do realize, Arrenia, that you can no longer remain here.”

Sinking her teeth into her lip, she nodded, turning her head away. Mental beratings raked through his mind. Couldn’t he do better than that?

He looked at her- small, shivering and abject- and in sudden wave, such as that crashes onto the shore during a tumultuous tide, wanted nothing more than to collect her into his arms, to tell her that this long, dark night would pass and day soon would come.

But there wasn’t the time, and that he knew well, and no way to take back his words. So he stood, allowing practicality to conquer the turbulent sensations within his soul. “Come, we must go.”

For a moment, there she remained, her head still resting between her shoulders. They rose and sagged, slow and steady, to the beat of her breath. Long expanses of time sprawled before them, silence echoing in the void of sound. A light drizzle pattered upon the ground, churning the dirt into mud and filling the earth with its dampened chill.

Then, gradually, her grip tightened about his own. Climbing to her feet, she flipped her hair behind her, sending a shower of small droplets hurling into the air. Jaw stuck out in resolution, she stared into the face of fate, defiance flaring from her eyes. With a nod of her head, she said, “Right. I will do this.”

A pause filled the atmosphere. Her fingers loosened their constricting clench. “But where will we go?”

Turning her towards him, he placed his hands on her shoulders. The clouds drifted from their place in front of the moon, pouring light into the glade and sweeping the rain away with it. She stood there staring, wide-eyed and innocent, scared and helpless, like a wounded creature waiting for aid. Waiting and not knowing if it will ever come.

His head dropped, fingers digging into her shoulders. “Oh, what do I say!”

She watched as the firm backbone of a warrior she once knew snapped beneath the burdens of the world, shedding the armored mask of emotions and leaving him susceptible and shaken. A rush of pity surged over her, whisking away her fear with its tidal torrent.

A spark within her burst into flame, thawing the icy corners of a heart frozen with fear. He had done so much for her- and he of all people! He could have- by rights he should have- put her to the sword, but instead he had shielded her with his own dignity, sacrificing it for the life of an enemy.

Her eyes swam in a pool of hot tears. And what had she done to repay him?

“Don’t.”

He raised his gaze slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say anything. I understand.”

She caught her breath as his stare seeped into her soul, taking her up in its caressing, protective hand, allowing it to sweep her troubles away. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the rugged bristles beneath her smooth fingertips. She felt him reaching deep into her secrets, overturning them and leaving them raw for the world to see.

And yet, for once, she found herself defenseless. For once she couldn’t move, bound as she was in his restricting grasp. Her heart began to beat, palpitating unchecked. She wanted to speak, but all words perished on her lips as he gathered her into his arms and held her there. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. Nothing existed save for the sensation of this embrace.

As he pushed her back, a wave of sad longing flooded the forest, chilling everything it touched. Arrenia shivered, her eyes leaking streams of tears. Oh, why did this have to happen?! Why couldn’t she stay?!

Gulping down his grief, Castor said, “Come, little maiden. It is home you must go. In which direction lies your village?

Arrenia hesitated, the night air nipping at her skin, the truth biting into her tongue. A slight breeze danced around her legs, trifling with her skirt as she stood there, the uncertainty shining from her being filling the air with a soundless yet explosive sense. If she made one wrong move…what would he do?

She could always lie. Just this once, her words could be untrue. Forestalled would his warrior’s wrath be, and perhaps her falsehood would escape his notice.

But had he ever betrayed her that she should do the same to him? Did he not protect her while the risk of his own blood loomed over his head?

Her long hair fell before her as she stared at the ground and sighed. Her hands in a neat knot before her, she pondered the point upon which she must now answer. Could she trust him with her very heart and soul? If she told him the truth, told him the very thing which separated him from her and held them apart, would he continue to respect her life? She knew what his duty would be, which course of action would hold him in great honor above the rest of his people….

Her hand slid around her throat. The blade’s keen edge crept into her mind, as did the sharp sting of its scratch. Her muscles twisted into tight cords, her stomach knotting uncomfortably.

But, from her heart came another tale, rising from deep within her, pushing its way upward and spilling into her mind. She unfolded fists damp with the sweat of her palm, bringing her head up slowly.

She jumped slightly as their gazes fused together, a fiery spark leaping into her chest. There it burned, increasing its heat until she sweltered beneath it, completely overcome and subdued. Her lips parted, the words issuing forth, her mind nullified.

“I don’t live in a village, Castor.”

“What do you mean?” His stare intensified as he knitted his brows.

“I…I’m not who you think I am.”

Noting the sudden tremor in her voice, he took in her wide eyes and tensed posture. Taking a step forward, he said, “You fear me.”

She took a step backwards. Gulping, she nodded. How could she not be, when one look of his eyes scaled the walls of her defenses, leaving her weak and helpless?

He smiled gently, taking her chin in his hand. “You need not be, little one. Tell me, what’s troubling you?”

She drew in her breath. “If I told you, would you promise not to hurt me?”

Dipping his head, he rested his hand upon his heart. “Upon my honor, little maiden.”

Her mind raced in wild, nervous terror, fists rolling into frightened balls. Eyes skimming over the elaborate hilt of his sword, she sucked in her fear.

“I live in the palace of Lydacia, the very one which your people tried to conquer. Castor… my name is Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia.”

She waited, expectancy constricting her soul. Inhaling slowly, she cleaved the oxygen from the air. Her insides twitched and fluttered, then fell into a stagnant stance. The wind halted its whispers, the boughs of the trees finally ceasing their hypnotic sway.

Glance unaverted, Castor placed a foot forward, fingers embracing the handle of his weapon. Metal rang against metal as he slid it from its sheath. If she gasped, he did not know it. All he remembered was the closing of her eyes, the turning of her head….

He raised his sword, rage coursing through his veins….

And yet another excerpt

2008-09-01T20:25:00.000-07:00

Rattled from her sleep by sharp shake, Arrenia bolted upright and stared into the darkness. Castor placed something in her palm, pressing it to her. Urgency rang from his every move, arousing alarm within her soul.

“Keep it,” he said. “Let no one know you have it.”

Arrenia undid her knotted fist, peeling her fingers back until the object lay bare in the crook of her hand. She explored the edges slicing the thin air, inhaling and exhaling with slow surety.

Eyes blazing in confusion, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her voice nought but a whisper, she said, “My mother’s medallion. But why…?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just too many questions…no one seems to know….”

Head drooping between his shoulders, he let out a sigh. Words perished on her tongue’s tip as she took his hand in her own. The unanswered consumed him, draining his strength with the slow torture of the mind. She swallowed her curiosity, knowing that it would only burden him more.

“You look exhausted,” she finally said. “Maybe you should return to your quarters.”

Methodically massaging his brows, his head shook again. “No… No, I cannot do that.”

Rising, he walked to an overturned pile and thrust a new dagger into his scabbard. He tightened the belt about his waist, all too aware of her vigilant gaze.

“Where are you going?”

He fumbled with the buckle, trying to make his voice steady. He mustn’t let her know…he mustn’t let her see his fear.

Fear. Fear of everything. Fear for her- fear what all of this might mean….And fear of himself.

What am I doing, helping this Lydacian girl? Oh, Ino, tell me why I do this! he thought.

“I will hunt this down until I know what I need,” he said.

“Then take me with you.”

He stared at her, her eager manner mixing with resolution. Was she crazy? Did she not know what might happen? What mankind might do to her?

And yet, was it not also her right to know, and to know everything she could? A sigh escaped once again as he stood in the indecisive void between the practicality of his notions and his roiling emotions.

She rose, approaching him, her eyes never once leaving his. He watched the rhythm of her every step, his heart beginning to dance to the beat of her every move. Covering it with his hand, he attempted in vain to cease the wild palpitations pulsing through him. A wishing wave flooded over him, and he found himself engulfed with the suddenness of its power. With his entire being, he began to wish. To wish this task was not hers. To wish that the medallion had never been discovered. And, though he knew his heart thought otherwise, in his mind he wished she had never come.

“Please, Castor,” she held out her hand to him, every inch of her begging, pleading with him. “I need to know.”

Her words washed over him, flooding him with feelings anew, drowning him in the depths of her tender voice. Afraid that he might be overcome by the force swallowing him in its mystic jaws, he turned from her. Who was this little Lydacian girl who could melt a heart hardened by the hammer of war? So small, so fragile, and yet so strong!

“Castor, please!”

Spinning about, he grasped her wrist. His voice reduced to a whisper, he brought his face close to hers. “Arrenia, listen to me. Discovering the mystery of the medallion holds many dangers, especially to one who wields this object of legend. Many want your life, Arrenia, and will stop at nothing to get. If you come with me, your life will be endangered. And, Arrenia, oh, Arrenia! I cannot, I will not….”

Words faded from his tongue as quiet crowded around them. A moment passed, then Arrenia said, “I want to come.”

He dropped her hand, letting it droop to her side. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he gave a slow nodded. “Very well. But stay close to me.”

She smiled up at him, her heart skipping a beat as he wrapped his fingers about her own. Falling in stride beside him, the duo ventured off into the night.

My New Laptop

2008-08-30T22:36:00.000-07:00

Hey, ya'll! It's late so I'm going to make this brief. I just wanted to say that, finally, I got my very own laptop! It's a Hewlett Packard and has a black exterior with a silver interior along with a media center, music player, DVD player, and internet access (most of the websites are blocked, however). Dad plans to upload Microsoft Word, but that hasn't happened yet. But, in short, I am very, very excited to have my own portable computer and can't wait to get started with all of the typing and stuff!

The Blood of the Lamb- Another Excerpt

2008-08-26T12:58:00.000-07:00

A crack of light peeked from around the doorway. The girl pushed upon the door, widening the crack into a brilliant beam.

A head of gray bent over a tome, writing running delicately across the page. A beard draped over his knees and brushed the cave floor. He glanced up from his work, peering at them from under bushy eyebrows, the feathery pen never once ceasing its infinite scratching against the paper. “Yes, Cora? What do you want?”

The girl, her eyes never rising to meet her master’s, replied, “The prince is here, seeking your audience, Sir.”

“Very well,” he said, putting the final strokes on his manuscript and laying his pen aside. “You may go.”

“Thank you, my master. I take my leave.” She backed out of the room. The old one’s gaze traced her steps, waiting until the door clanged its tell-tale message and retreating steps were heard.

The man unfolded his hands. “Come, sit. We are alone now- tell me what’s troubling you.”

Castor dragged the chair back from its place and seated himself upon it. Hand diving into his pocket, he extracted the medallion, watching its golden glitter as the lamplight leapt off its surface, dancing to the flicker of its flame.

For a moment, the man stared at it, drawing in shallow, slow breaths. His heart stilled, revived hope filling his soul. Wrapping his fist about it, he held it up, running a trembling finger over its jagged edge, tracing the peaks and valleys with reverent incredulity.

His eyes scanned the boy’s. “Where did you get this?”

Uneasiness cut into Castor, piercing him suddenly with the sharpness lining the prophet’s words. “A girl. I found her on the way to the Lydacian palace. She claims to be a peasant.”

The man was quiet fro a moment more, then laid the medallion down on the des, eyes still riveted to its glittering intrigue. “She might be more than she seems. Have you heard the legend of the half-medallions, lad?”

“No.”

A smile tilted the corners of cracked lips. “I suspected not. It is a closely-guarded tale, one only known amongst those of us called to my work. It is a most sacred secret, the most sacred of its kind…”

A question rose in the glassy blue of the man’s eyes. And, as Castor probed into their deepest depths, he saw a sea frothing with events far preceding the days of his father. A tumultuous sea- wrought with weary and hard times. And yet, every crease, every corner of that old face bespoke a kindly wisdom- one of which the wise only dream to have.

Then, slowly, the man said, “I think I can trust you. Yes, I think I will trust you.”

The chair screeched as it grated against the ground, giving the gentleman just enough room to stand. Turning about, he moved towards a bookshelf sprawling the breadth and length of a wall. Incohesive muttering tumbled from his tongue as he scanned his scrolls.

Castor waited in trained patience, his expression betraying neither thought nor emotion. Carved by the teachings of his father and etched with battles abounding, it remained in its staid state.

“Ah,” the old one said, pulling a large scroll from a lower shelf. “Here it is.”

A thud proclaimed the landing of the scroll upon the desk. Its parchment yellowed and language of old, it stretched out before him- a bottomless source of information.

“What does it say?”

The man looked up, surprise shining from behind his spectacles. “Why? Can’t you read it at all? What? No?! And I thought the palace school was the finest in Sleyvink!”

“As it is, Sir, but we have no need for ancient writing.”

“No need for it? Ahh, but there, my boy, you are wrong.” He re-seated himself, leaning over the table. Pointing towards the words written, he resumed. “Here, with these words and in this tongue, is the secret to life and the secret to death. Scratched upon these papers, readable only to those who are learned in the language of people populating this earth long ago, are instructions to either bring about the greatest good or the greatest evil.”

Gripping the desk, Castor said, “What is it? And what has it to do with my friend?”

The man shook his head. “I cannot tell you. None who are alive can. But I can tell you this- there is a prophecy, begot centuries ago, that says when the bearers of the two halves of a single medallion give their lives for the salvation of the world- then there will be peace.”

He placed the half-medallion into Castor’s hand. “Keep it safe. And watch for those who wish to take it from you, for through them, the world will be doomed to destruction.”

The boy nodded, rising from his seat. “Thank you. I shall do just that.”

The Blood of the Lamb- An Excerpt

2008-08-25T15:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, so a while back I posted a bit on the subject of my latest work, The Blood of the Lamb. Well, I have been working on this story for quite a while, and since God has been good enough to give me a love for this work, I wish to share an excerpt with you. Enjoy and feel free to critique!

Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the canopy of trees. Arrenia’s blood pumped through her veins as the lush foliage rushed by. She clenched the mare’s mane, leaning forward as she enjoyed the breath of the wind blowing against her cheek. Her legs hugged the side of the horse. Heart racing, she whipped her head around.

“Faster!” she cried.

“Careful, little maiden,” Castor reminded. “You’ll scare all the game.”

She stretched out her arm, allowing her fingers to brush the branches. He caught it and pulled it in, only to receive a sharp, reprimanding slap upon the hand. Laughing inwardly, he sat marveling at this young creature who dared to oppose him in such a frank, open manner.

Arrenia drove her heels into the horse’s flanks, spurring her onward. Leaning over the mare’s neck, she watched the ground beneath her whizz by….

A small scream issued from her lips as she began to fall. Her hand grappled for a hold- anything that would spare her from landing in a hurting heap upon the path. Dirt sprinkled her face, which lay just inches from the horse’s menacing hooves.

Crushing her fingers in a grasp of steel, Castor yanked on the reins. The creature reared, whinnying its complaints. His legs constricted the horse’s sides as his feet slipped from the stirrups. Arrenia dangled from his grip, slipping slowly with every fleeting second.

Releasing the reins, he reached for her other hand. Cold sweat met his palms as she complied. The animal pawed at the air, sending its rider tumbling from his seat of command….

Castor found himself somersaulting through the atmosphere, Arrenia beneath him, above him, and beneath him again. Pain surged through him as he made contact with the earth. For a moment, they tottered on the brink of a hillside. The shoulders of his shirt gathered in her grasp, and he clung tightly to her arms. Tongues tied in terrification, they glanced from each other to the long descent below.

Then, with a shriek of delight, Arrenia fell backwards, pulling him with her. Toppled-on twigs snapped beneath them, rifling the forest with resonating cracks. Thistles stabbed their sharp blades into their clothing while disarrayed garlands of briars adorned their hair.

They stopped in a clearing. Letting go of each other, they rolled onto their backs, uproarious laughter subsiding to subsequent giggles.

“Well, so much for not scaring the game,” Castor observed, propping himself up with his elbow.

Arrenia plucked a blade of grass from the lush carpet beneath her. Holding it up, she watched as it tipped to and fro, dancing to the gentle whistle of the wind. Birds twittered their harmonious accompaniment. The girl closed her eyes, allowing the breeze to toss the tips of her hair.

Castor looked at her, his brows knitted in the stitches of puzzlement. “What are you doing?”

She swatted at him. “Shh! Listen!”

Delving into momentary silence, he closed his eyes. His mind focused. His ears strained. Then, “What?! I don’t hear anything!”

Arrenia lifted her face towards the sun, allowing it to wrap her in the warmth of its rays. “Shh! Hear it?”

The seconds crawled like ants on a hill. Still nothing. “Tell me, what is it?!”

She tilted her chin a bit higher. “Open your imagination. Listen to the song of Nature. Try it. You’ll hear her pretty voice.”

“Do you always do this?”

She opened her eyes. “Do what?”

“Imagine.”

She reclined, sinking her back deep into the grass. “I just like to appreciate the simple wonders Ino has provided us with.”

Removing his gaze from hers, he stared off into the impenetrable wall of trees, hoping to bore a hole, to be able to relate, to share in her source of wonder. He wet his lips. “I wish I could, too, Arrenia… But life’s too short, too fleeting. One day you’re alive, the next you’re dead.”

Her fingers hugged the stem of a flower, pulling it free from its earthly bonds. The petite, pink petals displayed their faded beauty, each telling the tale of gone days of glory as they drooped from the stem. She stroked the plant gently. “But that’s just it. Maybe life’s too fleeting. So we should enjoy it while we have it. Every…single…moment.”

She pulled one petal away and tossed it to the wind, plucking each in turn until the stem itself stood, stripped of its adornments and bared to the battering wills of the world. She handed it to Castor, and he twirled it between his fingers, examining its helpless, humble appearance.

She’s right, he thought as astonishment throttled all speech. He had certainly never thought of it that way!

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her triumphant smile. He constricted the flower, crushing what little life it had left. What was he doing, letting this Lydacian girl put thoughts in his head? The filthy wretch! Did not everyone know this? That her people could deceive for years and never be caught?

Sighing, he unknotted his clenched hands. And yet, there was something different about this girl. Something he didn’t quite understand….

He shrugged the thought off his shoulders. He’d just have to watch her…and himself.

Concealed by a sea of green foliage, a scout observed them from his post. Squinting, he clarified in his mind the image of the girl, and her identity. Then, he turned from his post and sped northward, the words of news upon his tongue….

A Jolly Time

2008-08-20T19:17:00.000-07:00

Baggage cluttered my feet. Tossed by a grueling 4 hours of flight time, my friend Bekah and I sat side-by-side in the Philadelphia airport, waiting and glancing around in anticipation. Slowly, I rose. Was it? Could it really be?

"Look! There they are!" I shouted, waving one arm above my head.

We rushed forward, a torrent of joy bursting forth as we wrapped our arms around our friends Katie, Ellen, and Lauren Jolly once again. Our lips split into smiles. After nearly three months of separation and approximately four months of planning, we were finally here.

You see, after a year of laughs, movie midnight showings, sleepovers, pool hangouts, and good times the Jollys announced in March that they were being transferred to New Jersey, particularly heartbreaking for Bekah and me. However, we dreamed of meeting up again, and although at the time we knew the dreams might be far-fetched, we clung onto it as they pulled out of our driveway on that dreadful last night. And, from that little seed, that one tiny hope, sprung something we will remember for the rest of our lives- a whole six days in New Jersey, including one in New York City. And that wasn't all- Bekah and I were going alone.

So, there we were, jamming into the Jollys' van as we started our way to their house- and a whole a week of fun.

As soon as we arrived, we piled our stuff into the RV standing in the driveway. For the occasion, Mrs. Jolly gave the RV into the 24/7 care of us girls. With the help of a TV, junk food, a refridgerator, bunk beds, a table, our own dishes, and many other ammenities of the home, we quickly fell into a joyous little life and it soon became the private hideaway we loved.

And through this we all discovered that we loved something else- Jane Austen movies. Doritos and Chocolate Chex Mix on hand, we all but consumed the hours with classic tales such as the old Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park. We rooted for some couples and despised the matching of others. Just for fun, we took turns in the hair and make-up chair, trying hairstyles on each other that (we hoped) looked just like the ones on the TV.

Oh, and another thing about the Jollys- all three of 'em are completely boy-crazy. Literally, one night we spent almost thirty minutes filming ourselves screaming over Caspian (it was really interesting, especially when Bekah began fast-forwarding our favorite part and she lost her "remote privilege").

And when we got tired of boy-talk and movies, we had three options- a walk in the woods (which was quickly eliminated due to numerous ticks discovered), a swim in their ten-foot deep pool (you could dive!), or a round of Liar, which became a favorite pastime of ours. We'd stay up into the late hours of the night, screaming that a person lied and shoving the deck of cards towards the accused. Quite a few times, Ellen ended up with 51 cards in her hand.

But the best part? A trip to New York! For a whole day, we roamed the streets of America's largest city, seeing the world-famous sights.

Climbing to the top of an observation tower, we saw Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the spot where the Twin Towers would have stood, as well as the average structures of New York- all summarized into one sweeping view. On the way up, the elevator roof was transformed into a screen, upon which abbreviated films of events welcomed us to the city. Colorful lights, which shone through the screen, lined the elevator shaft, forever illuminated our way, whether we went up or down.

After that, we perused the shops, not the least of which was the American Girl Place, where dolls, clothes, and toys abound. Although Lauren was the only one still young enough to fully appreciate this store, the scenes artistically depicting dolls interacting with items from different sets brought back nostalgic memories of childhood pastimes to Katie, Ellen, Bekah, and me.

The next stop? F-A-O Schwarz, a humongous toy store comprised of stuffed animals, statuettes, Barbie-doll-like versions of renowned movie characters such as Jack Sparrow and Scarlet O'Hara, and much, much more. It had two levels, and we spent about an hour exploring every nook and cranny. Bekah and I made small purchases- just a few gifts as well as the friendship animals that the four of us had decided to buy as a reminder of our comradship.

As the hours wore on, our feet tired of treading the bustling streets. So, after we exited the toy store, Mrs. Jolly asked, "Would ya'll like to go sit in Central Park for a while?"

Naturally (quite naturally), we said yes and our little group made its way across the street and walked into the thickets of trees surrounding this beautiful place.

For you who have never been to Central Park, let me tell you that it is every bit as lovely as it is written off to be. Carpets of green grass cover the ground, shaded to perfection by a canopy of leaves. Sunlight pokes its head in between the branches of the trees, and a path paves the way through the park. A few vendors line the entrance and elegant carriages trot by, carrying sightseers through the tourist attraction just as they might have done a hundred years ago.

After the brief respite, we boarded the subway and sped along to Times Square. As we stepped out, an immediate bustle was about us as all kinds of people went their ways. Lights and marquees surrounded us as entire theaters marketed their plays. Entire builidngs advertised shows, and nearly everywhere something was playing. My camera kept flashing pictures. As an actress, I could hardly believe my eyes. I was standing in the heart of Broadway!

Wow. So this was where it all came from. Shows with such prestige as The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera- every Broadway show I had ever heard- came from here!

Although I could have explored New York for days longer, the sun was setting and the time nearing when we must go back to the little rv that stood awaiting our return. So, we boarded the train during rush-hour- which turned out to be another adventure all by itself.

Once we entered the station, we stopped by a wall to re-group. I stared up the stairs we had just come down. They were empty- but not for long. Literally a split second later they were swarming a tumultuous current of human beings, stampeding their way to the train which would take them home.

Minutes later, we stood in line, waiting for the gates to open so that we could go onto the platform. People crowded in around us, the size growing so rapidly that we decided to split off into pairs if we had to in order to board the train. Lauren would go with her parents the baby, Bekah and Ellen were to stay together, and I had my arm firmly linked through Katie's to ensure we didn't get separated.

As soon as the gates opened, there was a mad rush. The people around us began to press in until our whole group was going single file and everyone all but elbowing their way through.

Although we were nearly running, we got on the train in time, and arrived safely back to the rv. Popping in a movie, we enjoyed our ordered-in Chinese (which Bekah had been craving).

The next day (sadly) was our very last. But, despite our reluctancy to end the trip, we decided to make the most of what precious little time our "fearsome foursome" had left. So, we took a trip out to Blockbuster, rented four movies (which I paid for), then went to the store and loaded up on snacks and soda (which Bekah paid for). Then, returning home, we waited for nightfall....

The wrappers of candy crinkled together as we dumped them into one big bowl. Inserting the first movie, we sat down at a table of Liar and let the fun begin.

If you could see us, you'd probably laugh at our version of "fun", which is mainly defined as- record ourselves dancing to the Cha-Cha-Slide (Mrs. Jolly said she heard a thud, thud, thud, and the camper was shaking), dance, discuss boys in both the movies we're watching and other guys (namely celebrities that aren't in that particular movie), play Liar, videotape each other doing stupidity, and, rule #1 of our parties- giggle, giggle, giggle.

However, 5:30 Wednesday morning came much too soon, and before long Bekah and I found ourselves loading our bags into the back of the Jolly's car. Over and over again, we said our good-byes, just as we had nearly 3 months before.

But this time it was a little different. Ever since May this visit had been a dream in our heads that the four of us managed to turn into a reality while being nearly half a country away. And in our minds, in our very hearts, we knew we could do it again.

And we are. Many times before, Katie and Ellen had voiced interest in coming back for the hoedown, a country dance event organized by our co-op. Just last week, Katie texted me saying that her mom had booked tickets for the 18th-23rd of November- five whole days for our fearsome foursome to be complete again!

And what was best about this bash? We stayed up all night!

Character Emotions- Creating the Arc

2008-07-06T19:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, so you know that characters in any novel need to be unique and one-of-a-kind. They need to have specific qualities that either help them or deepen the conflict.

You also know that a good novel should have a theme, or something that can be taken away from the story and effect lives. For themes, dig deep inside yourself- keeping in mind what sets your blood to a boiling temperature. Do you hate it when people mistreat people of different skin colors? Is abortion particularly abhorrent to you? Do you threaten to call the cops when you see teenagers road-racing (a novel on taking the things God gave us seriously, maybe?)? Or perhaps you want something more spiritual. Salvation happens to be a favorite among the Christians. In this case, you should have your lead go through a rough, bumpy time that draws him or her to God. No reader will relate to a lead who follows God without a second thought!

But how can you tie your theme and your character(s) together as do some of the most successful plots? By the journey the character takes- by the plot events themselves.

Perhaps the best and most widely used example of this is Charles Dickens's The Christmas Carol. Ebenezer Scrooge is a lean, mean, money-making machine (and not to mention selfish and crabby) until The Ghosts visit him. These three individuals lead him through his past, present, and future. But there is a catch- the future can still be changed! As you probably know, the future changes and so does Scrooge. As I stated before, this is a very good example of something every writer should understand. Something known in our business as the "character arc".

Note in our example how the story is constructed. It revolves around the theme (the virtues of being a good person). Indeed, the conflict is the theme itself! All plot points strive toward one goal- making Scrooge a better person.

In the beginning, we are presented with a character, Ebenezer Scrooge. From the get-go, we're told that he's unpleasant and selfish, and soon Dickens backs this claim up with sufficient glimpses of Scrooge interacting with the people around him. By the end, Scrooge is a different man. Where did the change happen, and how did Dickens accomplish this?

The answer is simple- through the plot. That's the character arc. It's using your character's weaknesses to create further conflict, then using the plot to somehow create a change in your character. But be careful you don't go right out and tell your reader what the change is! This is exposition in the extreme, and it can be a big damper on the sales of your book. Since your character is the one doing the changing, show it in the actions and choices your character makes while catching on to the lesson in play. If done right, this should produce a beautiful, clear combination of character, conflict, and theme.

Okay, so how do you create the character arc? First, get a theme in mind. The rest is a duet between the plot and the character in question. For the best kind of character arc, think about your character's weaknesses. Is she proud? Does he think honor is to be sought above all else? Does she think she can live her life without God? Is he calloused and uncaring? Abusive? Impatient? The possibilities are endless.

Now, pick a weakness you want to have changed by the end of the book. What's the opposite of the weakness? For the girl who believes she can live her life without God, the opposite is living her life following in God's footsteps. What plot events drive her towards (and through) that change?

If you've already planned your plot, examine how you challenge your characters. The best authors corner their characters- they attack them from the outside-in and the inside-out, only providing an outlet for escape once the story has run its course. Consider the conflicts that attack your character's inner soul, question their morals and everything they've every believed in. How does your character reply to these attacks? Through attack and reply, your character should battle her way through the arc until you reveal to her an outlet, the light at the end of the tunnel. And when she comes out of that tunnel, she should be changed.

The character arc will make or break you. It has to be (simultaneously) subtle, stamped in bold letters over everything, and realistic. Moreover, it has to come from two sources- the plot and the character. Creating inner conflict (the stuff in the plot's chemistry that churns the wheels of the character arc) will be discussed later. Good night!