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Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Think It Through



This is another school paper that I wanted to post. We were allowed to pick any topic that interested us. I had some other ideas (e.g. Mini-Coopers, Love them!! etc )

Post it on Facebook! Email me soon! Text me as soon as you know! Wonderful tweet done by…! Is this all our generation will hear? What ever happened to what is now known as “snail mail”? Technology has become too good. It distracts people from the real world. Some people do just fine with having an email, Facebook, Twitter, cell-phone without becoming obsessed. Some people can't do it. Here are four ways technology can be bad:

1)      You can find yourself addicted. How you know that your addicted is when you are sitting in front of your computer waiting for a new post on Facebook to come up because you have spent the past 30 minutes memorizing what people have posted from today and days previous. Or when you get a text message and you reply and find yourself checking your phone every 15 seconds to see if they responded. You get very frustrated when you see that they haven’t answered so you lose all hope.

2)      Discontentment. What!! I’m not discontent I just really like the house I built on a game. It’s just my dream house. Discontentment is when you find yourself looking at pictures on Facebook of your friend and her family and saying, “I wished I looked like her. How does she get her hair to stay so flat? I wish my family was as happy as hers.”

3)      Distracts from the real world. Your telling your best friend about how awful your day was and all of a sudden you hear her cell-phone beep saying that she had a text message. She whips out her phone, breaks eye contact, says she just has to answer this real quick. You excuse her this one time and when she is done she gives you her whole attention. You quickly end that conversation since you can’t stand not being listened to. You go over and talk to your other friend. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You say you just have to answer it real quick. The real world has more to do than just you texting, facebooking, etc. The real world has people dying all over it, thousands of babies being killed each day, murders, suicides. All of that is happening while you are texting your friend about your day.

4)      The more you are on your tech. the less time you are spending with God. You wake up in the morning and designate time when you can spend time with God. However you pull out your phone just to see if you got an email. You can get easily distracted that way.

However technology is a good thing. Used in the right way. You could use your email, Facebook, phone to minister to people in a way that you might not feel comfortable doing with talking. You can post verses on Facebook to encourage all your friends that day. I challenge you all to only use your email, Facebook, Twitter, cellphone for positive things this week. If you can’t do it you know your addicted. 

~Christina (I posted last time too)

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Hello...

Can you believe it! I have NOT fallen off the face of the earth. 


Here is a story I wrote for school. Enjoy! :)



Charlotte’s Dead
“Where’s Papa going with that ax?” Fern asked her mother as she was washing dishes.
            “Out to the pig-pen,” Mrs. Arable answered. “Some pigs were born last night.”
            “But why does he need an ax, Mama?” Fern worriedly queried.
            “Well dear, um, one of the babies is not quite up to average.” Seeing the look in Fern’s eyes she decided to just tell her the truth. “He is going to have to kill it because it is too weak, small, and won’t amount…” Mrs. Arable said.
Fern made a small shout, grabbed a dish rag, dropping it on the way out of the screen door. The screen door shut with a loud crack. Mrs. Arable sighed and picked up the dishtowel.
Fern grabbed onto the back of her Papa’s shirt.
“No Papa!! Don’t kill the innocent pig! It’s done nothing to you.” Her father came to a stop. Slowly he turned around and looked into her eyes.
“Darling it’s the best for it.”
“Death isn’t the best for anything.”
“I’m doing what I know is right.”
“But Papa you...”
“Go inside now Fern.”
A few moments later Papa walked into the kitchen with a defeated look on his face. “Okay Fern, you win.” Fern squealed in excitement. “But we will be selling him to your Uncle Homer.” Fern’s face dropped.
“What’s the down face for? At least I let him live!”
            “Thank you Papa.”
Shortly after breakfast Papa called up Homer Zuckerman and asked him if he would like a pig for only six dollars. Homer agreed and came by to pick him up later that afternoon.
            “My! That shore is a tiny pig. Maybe I can fatten him up.” Zuckerman said. Fern’s face glowed at the thought of the pig being a normal size. What she didn’t hear was, “I doubt he’ll live long.”
            “Oh I almost forgot to tell you. His name is Wilbur,” Fern announced with a grin on her face. Homer knew that it was bad to name an animal, especially when it was a runt.
            “Um...okay. Are you sure you want to name it?” Zuckerman cautiously asked. Fern looked sternly at him. Homer turned around, picked up the pig and put it gently into a basket; all the while Fern was scrutinizing him with her stare.
            “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” Homer called out of the window of his truck. When he got home he put Wilbur into a little corner of the barn, where there was fresh hay and a trough so Wilbur could eat. Wilbur was next to the goose pen.
Weeks went by in Wilbur’s pen without any company and he was not improving at all. He spent most days moping in the corner and was prone to coughing fits. Homer was considering just doing away with him. The decision was getting more urgent because the slop put into Wilbur’s trough would rot and stink and attract rats.  
Three weeks into owning Wilbur, Zuckerman decided to go on and get it over with. Stepping outside, the porch door creaked. Letting it slam shut, Homer breathed in the fresh air. He noticed that the barnyard was eerily quiet. With the sun rising, the rays of light made the lightly dewed grass sparkle. Any moment now a horse would start neighing, a cow would moo in almost perfect harmony, and Wilbur would be standing with his feet spread apart and start coughing. Whistling a tune, he strolled toward the barn. He fed all the other animals before he fed Wilbur. “Here piggy-iggy-iggy!” Homer shouted. Peering into the dark enclosure Homer had to blink a few times in order for his eyes to adjust. A cold pink lump lay in the far corner not moving or breathing. A rancid, half-eaten rutabaga lay near his left ear.
“Oh man. Fern is not going to be happy. Well, might as well and go get my shovel,” Homer muttered to himself. Walking out of the barn to get the shovel, he walked into a spider-web. A large gray spider fell to the ground and Homer promptly squished it with his boot.

Moral: Rotten rutabagas can alter your destiny.
 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

My Desert Story


Before I say anything else, I want to mention how grateful I am that Christina is my sister. Granted, we have our differences. I am your typical first-born: perfectionist, an organized list-maker, detailed, follows the rules, kind of person. Christina is the creative, spontaneous, out-going social butterfly. As a result, we inevitably clash over certain areas, such as the state of our room. :) But we also work well together. She can make me laugh with just her expressions and is always the one to suggest a lively game. How lucky I am to have a built-in friend for life!

If you’ve been following our family’s blog, you will know that we have been celebrating the season of Lent before Easter. A recent family devotion was on deserts. We looked at different stories in the Bible that include the desert and noticed that wandering in the desert was not necessarily a bad thing. Almost every story that we found contained an experience of growth and healing for the person/people in the desert. Our activity after the reading was to write down some of our own “desert” experiences and tell how God helped us through it and what we learned. I’m going to be open and share one of my desert stories. 


If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in the 2 ½ years we’ve had Kaiden and Keira, it is this: I am not capable and I am weak. I had previously known this to some degree in my head but never really felt it to be true in my daily interactions. Usually, I am fairly capable and efficient to do almost anything I need to do. But lately I just felt that I couldn’t do anything without feeling utterly dependent and helpless. There are so many things in my life that I can do absolutely nothing about and it made me so frustrated! And not only did I feel emotionally weak but also physically weak. I’ve gone through 4 or 5 different medicines and 2 injections to try and treat my arthritis. Though they took the sharp edge of pain away, there was still a constant dull ache in my body that matched the ache in my soul. 


At first, I prayed that God would take away the situations where I felt so helpless. Then I tried to ignore the feelings. Neither plan working, being reminded of it almost hourly, I attempted to lock the feelings inside where no one would see them. I’ve always been someone who internalizes everything. I suppose that stems from the same problem. Admitting how I really feel would be a sign of weakness, right?


Wrong. My wonderful parents noticed that something was wrong and encouraged me to be honest. I finally opened my heart and related how I had been feeling. They helped me see that acknowledging weakness is actually an essential part of being a Christian. You know, sometimes we feel like God is really lucky to have someone like us on His team. But that is a lie from Satan. And it has such an arrogant and self-important air! If we are truly that independent, then there would be no need for salvation and Christ’s work would be in vain! 


But it’s still not easy. No one wants to admit weakness. And it goes against every part of my nature. I like people to think well of me and I want to feel like I have control of every situation. But it’s so important! My dad said that it’s always where we want to go least that God needs to take us most! I found some wonderful verses that spoke to me on this. Here is my favorite…



 “So to keep me from being conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from being conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest upon me. For Christ’s sake, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong!”  (2 Corinthians 12:7-10)


What a relief! I don't have to worry about carrying the burden! I no longer carry  unrealistic expectations for myself! Though this is, unfortunately, a desert I am sure I will have to revisit from time to time, I am very thankful for my time there! 

Friday, February 22, 2013

My Almost Finished Short Story

Here is my story.  The only thing I am missing is a TITLE.  That is the most important thing of all.  If anybody has any ideas please let me know.  I would also like to hear your opinions if you think anything should be changed. Enjoy!:)


 Palm trees waved in the wind, as if they were beckoning to passing strangers.  They were placed at the entrance of the small town.  Breaking off from the main road, several subdivisions led to family cul-de-sacs.  The houses stood peacefully in a half-circle.  All of them were actually peaceful, except for one.  That house belonged to Mr. Selma, the manager of a grocery store.  He lived with his wife, Mrs. Selma, his 15 year old son, Bretton, and his six year old twins, Alicia and Alex.  
“Bretton! It is time to wash your hands for dinner.”  Mrs. Selma shouted up the stairs.  Bretton heaved a sigh and slammed his book shut.  He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, rolled off his bed and headed toward his bathroom.  As he was washing his hands his twin siblings came bounding into the bathroom, laughing and giggling.  They bumped into Bretton and instantly fell quiet. 
“Cut it out, guys. You made me get water all over my shirt.”  Bretton furiously retorted.  Alicia and Alex shrunk back in fear. 
“We’re sorry.” They answered in unison.  He looked at them in disgust and walked out of the room and started trudging down the stairs.  He could hear the twins laughing again.  He quickly glanced at his mom, who was finishing making dinner and plopped down into his chair with a heavy sigh.  His mom carried to the table, steamed vegetables, meatloaf, and baked potatoes. 
“Alex and Alicia! Time for dinner.”  Mrs. Selma called up the stairs.  Thumps and giggles told the whole world when the twins arrived.  Bretton glared at them and shoved a bite of food into his mouth. 
“Uggh!  What is this?  I’m not eating it.  It tastes horrible.”  Bretton choked on his meatloaf.  He dropped his fork on his plate and pushed it away, with a horrible expression spreading like a virus on his face. 
“Bretton!  It is meatloaf.  Please stop making such a fuss about it.  The twins are going to follow your example.”  Mrs. Selma added in a low voice, glancing at the twins. 
“Mommy, what is this?”  the twins questioned.  Mrs. Selma sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down putting her head in her hands.  She tried to block out the twins and Bretton arguing.  Suddenly, everybody fell quiet when they heard the garage door open. 
“Daddy’s home!” the twins excitedly shouted.  The table shook and chairs toppled as Alicia and Alex raced to give their father a hug.  Bretton sighed in exasperation, while his mother went around picking up napkins, silverware, and chairs the twins had scattered in their haste.  Mr. Selma clomped through the door with Alex and Alicia holding onto him. 
“OK.  It’s time to get off, you goofs.”  Mr. Selma commanded.  Alicia and Alex ran to the table while Mr. Selma took off his tie and tossed it on the back of a chair. 
“Well, how are you guys doing?”  Mr. Selma asked Bretton and Mrs. Selma.
“Fine.” Bretton cut short.  He stood up quickly almost knocking down his chair. “I’ve got to finish my leftover school.” Bretton pushed his chair in and ran up the stairs.  Up in his room, he opened the book that he had been reading.  He was reading, but not paying attention instead he was listening to what was going on downstairs.  He could hear the twins chatting away their day to their father.  Occasionally he could hear his father and mother exchanging a word every once in a while.  Thoughts were running through his head, when they were rudely interrupted by Alex bursting into his room.
“Alex, get out right now!”  Bretton roared at the little boy. 
“I was wondering if you would like to play a game with me.”  Alex asked not really noticing that he just got yelled at.
“No.  I don’t have time.  I need to finish my school.  Now, get out, before I get Dad.” Bretton threatened.  Slowly, Alex walked out of the room.  Sighing, Bretton went back to his book.  He quickly finished the chapter.  He sat up when he heard heavy footsteps in the hall. 
“Time for lights out.”  That was one of Bretton’s least favorite sentences in the whole world. 
“I just finished school.  I don’t get any free time.”  Bretton grumbled under his breath. 
“Bretton, lights go out now!” 
“I wish I didn’t live here.”  Bretton complained.  “All of my friends get to stay up late.” He hopped out of bed and turned the light off.  He slowly made his way back to his bed and lay down.  He stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.
Bretton groaned and rolled over.  He pulled the blankets over his head.  Something sharp poked out of the mattress he was sleeping on.  Cracking his eyes open he examined the bed.  He could barely move underneath the weight of his blankets.  Hmm, he thought, Mom must have put more blankets on.  He pulled out a feather from the mattress. 
“What is a feather doing in my bed?”  Bretton asked, now more awake. 
“To answer your question, young sir, you have a feather in your bed to make it so you are sleeping on a cushion instead of the wood,” a strange voice said from the corner of the room.  Startled, Bretton sat straight up.  He noticed that he was not in his own bed, nor in his own bedroom.  Peering around the curtains that hung around the bed he saw the figure who had talked.  The speaker had short brown hair, an apron, and intense eyes.  
“What am I doing here?  Did you steal me from my bed while I slept?”  Bretton asked, while getting increasingly worried.
“You know exactly why you are here.  In fact, you asked to come here,” the character answered.
“What!  I would never ask to come here.  You’re insane.  I would never ask to come to a place where there are FEATHERS in my bed!!”  Bretton shouted. 
“Well, you don’t have much time to waste.  Breakfast is almost over.  Your clothes are on the chair.  I assume you will be able to find your way to the kitchen to eat your food.  I will be waiting for you.”  And with that the man walked out of the room.  
Bretton threw off his blankets and got off the high bed.  The moment Bretton’s feet touched the ground he yelped out in surprise.  The floor was ice cold.  Shivering, he got his clothes on.  Muttering to himself he opened the gigantic door and stepped out.  Looking both ways into the hallway, he saw endless doors, curtains and deer heads but no people.  The only thing he could hear was the padding of his feet as he peeked into random rooms.  One caught his eyes.  Pushing the doors open he saw such royalty, he never imagined was possible.  One rug swallowed the floor in numerous colors.  Hanging from the ceiling was a massive glass chandelier. Bretton stood still in awe. 
“Ahem.” A familiar voice rang through the quiet.  Bretton whirled around in his spot, heart thumping wildly.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that is was just the person who was in the bedroom.
“This is not the kitchen. I thought I told you to go to the kitchen.”
“Well, you did, but…” Bretton hesitated. 
“To get to the kitchen,” the small man started, “you have to go down this hall and up a couple staircases.  This time I hope I will see you there.” And with that the little man left. Quickly, Bretton ran after him, but when he came to the hall he could see nobody.  Looking behind him nervously he shut the massive doors and started walking down the hall again.  At the end of the seemingly perpetual hall there was a staircase.  Sighing, he sat down on the bottom step and stared straight up to the very top of the staircase.  His stomach growled.  Urged on by his hunger he trudged up the stairs.  Bretton wiped the sweat from his brow, when he finally reached the top of the stairs.  Looking down Bretton forced himself to keep in whatever remains of supper he had left in his stomach.  Turning around he yelped in surprise.  Sitting on a little chair was the mysterious man.  The little man sat watching Bretton’s every move, without blinking.  Slowly, he lifted his arm and pointed to his left.  Nodding his thanks Bretton headed the suggested direction.  When he looked back the man was gone.  Running with anticipation and fear, he nearly missed the kitchen.  Skidding to a stop he peeked into the almost abandoned kitchen.
Sitting at the table, with a bowl placed in front of him sat the man.  He looked up as Bretton entered the empty room.  Nothing implied that it was a kitchen.  In the center of the room there was a table, with only two chairs.  There was no stove, oven, fridge, or even a microwave. 

 Cautiously, Bretton edged toward the table.  The man pushed the bowl toward Bretton.  When Bretton sat down, the chair groaned in protest.  Looking a little unsteady, Bretton stared at the unappetizing grub in his bowl.  He grimaced and remembered the wonderful meatloaf that he had chosen not to eat the other night.  Instantly, he regretted not eating it.  Taking up his spoon he managed to eat several bites, the little man watching him the whole time.  He nearly choked on it.  The food seemed to clump all together right as he swallowed.  He bounced up from the table and searched the cupboards for a glass.  The cup was cracked in several spots and looked as if it had not been washed in a very long time.  He looked around for a sink, but all he saw was a pump.  Pumping wildly, he finally managed to get several drops of water into the bottom of the cup.  Quickly, he was able to swallow some of the water before it trickled out the bottom of the cup and down his arm. 
“Mm. Thanks for the food. What do you do around here?” Bretton asked. 
“Well, there is cleaning, organizing, making food.  In general, work.” The little man finished with a little smile on his face.  
Bretton looked around him with a sad look on his face.  Oh man, what did I get myself into? He wondered.  Bretton stood up and thanked the man for the food, and quickly left. 
Bretton stood in the doorway of the room that he had awakened in.  Not wanting to work at all he lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling.  After several minutes he managed to find animals, in the pattern of the cracks of the ceiling.  Getting up off the floor, he walked over to the massive window.  Pulling his sleeve down over his hand, he tried to rub some of the dirt and grime off the glass so he could actually look out.  Once he noticed that his effort was worthless, he decided that he could at least clean up the room.  Anything would be better than this relentless boredom!  He picked up the clothes he had tossed on the floor, along with quite a few feathers, and straightened up the massive bed.

   Looking around the spotless room, he found to his satisfaction that he actually felt good after working.   After everything was cleaned up, he ventured into the hall again.  Walking into various rooms, he made up his mind that if he was going to be stuck here he might as well be helpful.  Thinking about it almost made him smile.  He would surprise that little goblin of a man!   

After going through almost every room in the hallway, he decided which one he was going to work on. 
It was a small room with two windows.  There was a couch, rug, bookshelves, and a closet.  He rummaged around in the closet to see if there was any Windex® cleaner.  Soon after rummaging through the closet, he came to the conclusion that there wasn’t even a vacuum.  Several things he did find were a broom, a filthy rag, and a long sturdy stick.  Picking up the stick, he turned around and started heading back into the main part of the room.  As he was turning the stick, he heard a solid, thwack, as it whacked something.  Looking to see what the stick had hit, he found the little man sitting on the floor rocking back and forth holding his forehead. 
“Oh!” Bretton exclaimed. “If you are alright could I ask you a question?”  The man looked at him through a swollen eye.  Bretton took that as a yes.
“Number one, why do you keep on following me and why do you pop up everywhere?”
“Whoa.  You said one.  That was two questions.”
Completely ignoring him Bretton went on, “Number two, how do you clean this place?” his voice rising with his short temper. 
“The stick is to beat the carpet.  The rag is for the windows.  And the broom is to sweep the floor.”
Bretton looked at the “cleaning” utensils that were in his hands.  Shaking his head in disbelief, he managed to mutter a quiet “thank you” and stalked past the man.  
Standing in the middle of the room, he decided what to start cleaning first.  He grabbed the little cloth and started rubbing the window vigorously.  He became annoyed that it was not getting clean.  Suddenly urged by a thought he ran all the way to the kitchen.  After wetting the rag he ran back to the tiny room.  Scrubbing hard he was able to make a little clear spot.  Smiling at his success, he went back to the kitchen and filled a bucket with water.  When he finally staggered into the room, he nearly dropped the bucket in exhaustion.  
The day went by with hard work and a couple breaks to eat.  Bretton crawled into the huge bed and heaved a deep sigh.  For one of the first times in his life he had a good feeling.  Thinking about his family made him feel lonely.  He regretted the way he had spoken to his parents and siblings, and thought about the ways he could help around his house.  If only he could get back home, somehow.  Instantly he knew that there was no place like home.  He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 
“Bretton! Get up! It’s time to eat breakfast! Hurry and get up! Mama is making pancakes!”
Bretton found himself in his bed, at his own house, with his own twin siblings bouncing on him. 
“Ok, ok!  I’m getting up!” Bretton happily exclaimed.  Bouncing out of his bed he grabbed the twins before they ran out of the room.  He gave them each a hug and dared that he could get his clothes on faster than them. Squealing, they ran out of the room.  Happy to be home he threw on his clothes and ran out his door.  He stumbled as he found both of the twins sitting outside his door waiting for him.  Grinning he made his way down the stairs, with the twins on his heels.  
As he was eating his pancakes, he thought back to the place where he had been and immediately was grateful to be eating and living in his own home.  Bretton knew where he belonged -- and couldn’t wait to show it.

pictures galore

hi all. here are some photos of my spring vacation (i promise i didn't just stay in a car..by the rear view mirrors it would look like ...