Up On the Roof

In three days, I'll be eating Turkey.

2010-11-22T13:26:00.000-05:00

Holy Cow.

November 22. Really?

I'm exhausted today. So tired that I could crawl under the desk and sleep all day. I was this tired on Friday, Saturday, yesterday, and again today. I think the semester has finally caught up with me. Luckily, in two days, I'll be headed home to get some much needed sleep.

So what am I thankful for this year? I'm not sure where to start. I mean, I try to make a list of a few things every day that I'm thankful for. I think that I'll look back on this year and say "It was the best of times, It was the worst of times." But I know I've written that before. It seems like we can look back on every year and say it was the best of times and the worst of times. That's probably why they let Dickens be considered a classic writer.

Right. Thankfulness.

1. Dirhk. At the beginning of what was quickly looking to be a crappy summer, I got a little pick-me-up. Dirhk is my 1990 Acura Integra. My grandfather and my uncle invested a LOT of time into fixing it, and for under $1000 bucks, I had a perfectly good car for zooming around in. It had 42k miles on it when I got it. I've made a few trips back and forth from Ohio, I've been back and forth from Knoxville to home several times, and I go between Knoxville and Oak Ridge at least once a week. Then, the car was able to provide for me even further when I was able to hock the title so I could afford a new laptop when Boomhauer made an untimely exit.

2. Cousins. Boat loads of them, it seems. And by boat loads, I mean 11. At times this summer they stressed me out and had me hiding in dark rooms, but I love them SO much. I played cards and video games with Aunt Christylee's boys, and I cuddled with Olivia until she couldn't stand me anymore. As for Uncle Chad's brood? I actually kept an eye on them a few times, and we did things like hide and seek, playing in the woods, watching a show about people in prison, 3 straight hours of America's Funniest Home Videos, ghost stories on the History Channel, cereal for dinner one night. And then there were Aunt Michelle's three. The older two and I went shopping, watched New Moon, ate at the World's Most Magnificent McDonald's, and gossiped. They remind me so much of Hannah and I. And then, there was Arianna. We played kitchen a few times, and then she helped me pack to come home and she tried on my clothes. I wish I had a picture of Arianna wearing the top to my "baby suit".

3. Chad. Where do I start? This chapter of our story started about this time last year and came to a close in August. August 27th marked a new beginning for the two of us, and I am so thankful for a second chance at us. I mean, I don't even quite know what to say.

Somewhere I lost him, but he came back to me, and I thank God for that. I love him, and I always have. He and I are going to see Skillet with Toby Mac, and also Relient K in the coming weeks. He says he wants to go to Dollywood and see the lights. We've been to Norris Dam; we went hiking in the Smokies. We've been swimming, we laid around at his place. We've visited our families and eaten at a little out of the way diner. We saw Harry Potter together and tried to pass out Halloween candy. We make each other laugh until we cry. And sometimes, we sit on the couch, drinking coffee and watching Castle. I don't need much more in life.

I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is when you're in the world - Elton John

4. The family. No, seriously. I know that everybody is thankful for their family. But honestly, mine basically rocks. It's like a three ring circus. We make each other laugh, and we're super close. Somehow, it seems like my mother's running a comedy club and an advice column from the same place, and I wouldn't trade this sitcom-ish life for anything. Even though it's different now since Hannah is in Jackson and we're sort of spread out, we're still close. I can't wait for all of us to be together in the next month. There is food to be eaten, board games to be played, laughs to be had, movies to be watched, and presents to be opened. I love the holidays, and they're quickly becoming more precious each year; it won't be long and it will be one of the only times we're all in one place.
4a. Nana. Yes, Nana gets her own paragraph. She's like the funniest old lady I know, whether she means it or not. She doesn't consider them cuss words until you've taken the Lord's name in vain, she spies on her neighbor, and talks about the most inappropriate things at dinner. Then, she sends Papa home to his apartment (a stone's throw away) when she wants it quiet again. I love that old lady!

Back to work, there's stuff to complete!

Sometimes, God just jumps out of the bushes.

2010-11-11T22:31:00.000-05:00

What a day. Most of my best days start with me tweeting about having a ton of stuff to do, being stressed and unreasonably tired and overworked....and then something happens and the day turns out more amazing than I thought.

Today wasn't anything too out of the ordinary at first: I had class, I needed to speak with professors, etc. I also was wanting to go cover a story about a newspaper for the homeless. It's call the Amplifier, and it's sponsored by Redeeming Hope Ministries here in Knoxville. Each homeless person who is registered to be a vendor buys the paper for 25 cents each, and then turns around and sells it for the dollar. He pockets the 75 cents plus any tips he might make.

After scheduling meetings with professors for tomorrow, I came back and called the ministry so I could speak to the pastor in charge of the Amp, Eddie Young. I drove over there and began talking to him about how the paper came to be in Knoxville. Eventually, they hope to have the paper be primarily written by the homeless community.

Oh right...How did God jump out of the bushes?

I've always wanted to do some homeless ministry, always. I've just never had time or didn't know how to get involved. Last night I dreamed of a homeless person in a wheelchair. Today, I saw a homeless person in a wheelchair. I'm telling you, the Lord throws us huge hints. The homeless and journalism? Holy cow. It just got dropped into my lap. They need people who know how to write and edit for now. They need people who might be able to do some work with inDesign and other graphic design. And the homeless themselves? They just want to share their stories, to have somebody treat them like people. They just love to talk.

Sitting in that minister's office with the homeless (he called them "our friends") hanging out in the next room, I felt God urging me to volunteer my time. What time, God? You know I'm stretched thin. Needless to say, I told Mr. Young that I'd like to get involved over Christmas break since I'll be in and out of Knoxville through December. I can write if they need be, and I can edit, and I can teach the writing to anybody who is willing to learn....I can go all the way back to third grade grammar if I need to. I just want to help them meet a need. I want to know their stories.

I talked to a man named David, who grew up in Greenback. His family is long gone now, it's just him and his sister, both of them homeless. David was perched on a rock wall outside the church, drinking a coffee. At 48, he's been homeless for two years after a back injury left him unable to hang drywall, a job he'd been doing for 28 years. After the injury, the doctors wouldn't clear him for work and he had to sell his house. When it was all said and done, he had 800 dollars in his pocket. David wore a gray jacket and a Coca Cola T shirt, and beneath his weathered skin and bearded face, brilliant blue eyes looked back me. He told me that he hopes people know that not all of those homeless people are lazy. He said he'd work every day if he could find a job. I believe him.

So that's where I am. This dropped into my lap today. I once prayed that I would honor God with my written words. I'm almost without words over the sheer awe I feel right now at the Creator who introduced this to me at the right moment. Oh Lord, I don't want to let You down.

I think sometimes that we're afraid serving God means that we'll immediately be sent to a hut in Zimbabwe to eat gross food and be sunburnt all the time. I think He wants us to serve in an area we're passionate about.

Sometimes we're walking along and we're not even paying attention, and God jumps out of the bushes.

Life, like a good book, often comes full circle. - Richard Paul Evans

2010-10-20T22:39:00.000-04:00

This feeling doesn't have a name.

I can't call it PMS because it isn't. I'm not sad. I'm not disappointed. Maybe this is angst. Yeah, I think I'm going to call this one angst. It itches. I think.

I haven't had much time to write any fiction lately, which makes me sad since it's almost National Novel Writing Month and I'm simply too busy to keep going. That makes me sad. Amy and Fletcher still have so much ahead of them. I've had a year to mull them over and think about them, and there's still so much to tell.

How can it be that I turn 21 in just a couple months? How can it be that it's already been two months since Chad and I got back together? He makes me smile. And I could try to talk about how he really makes me feel, but it won't do it justice.

In April of 2009, I wrote down an idea for a story that I had....basically a guy and a girl were going to be split up for the summer, and through a series of misfortune, they were going to realize that they were right for each other after all. I knew something big would have to happen to get that guy and girl back together. Fast forward a year and six weeks. Chad and I were about to break up. I had to turn in a final story for my fiction writing class, and I wrote a story of a guy and girl who break up and it takes him until right around Labor Day to know he'd made a terrible mistake.

Fast forward to August, two months ago: Chad and I began spending more time together, and really talking things out. By Labor Day, we were back together.

I don't believe in fortune telling, but sometimes I think God gives us hints about the things to come.

There are things that drift away, like our endless numbered days

2010-10-19T13:46:00.001-04:00

What a day yesterday. Things went all wrong, I was cranky, in a foul mood and out a good chunk of change by the time I finally dropped myself into the recliner at Chad's yesterday afternoon.

It was long after we'd had dinner, but shortly after Jeopardy went off that my phone rang.

Darien was calling. That's a fairly odd occurrence. Normally he just texts me. I answered.

"Where are ya?"
"Oak Ridge," I answered.
"Oh. Well, Chase is leaving tomorrow, we're down here in Knoxville."

How had I forgotten? I'd known for a while, but somewhere in my craziness that is my life, I forgot about Chase and the Air Force.

"I'll be there soon," I answered.

I found them in a lower level of the State Street parking garage, behind the Regal Riviera theater. Chase's curfew at the hotel was 11 last night, and he, his family, Darien, and their friend Derek had already been downtown for while. They'd been to dinner, walked around Market Square, so on and so forth.

I pulled up and they were mostly piled into the bed of Darien's truck, shooting the breeze. If we had parking garages at home, they would surely do what we did last night.

I joined the crew in the bed of the truck and for an hour and a half, we proceeded to laugh until we cried. It was as if it was still just another day in high school, or middle school for that matter, just like lunch time and pretty soon the bell would ring and we would go back to class and have to wait and finish our frivolity after school or over the weekend.

How was it that last night, the boys I've been friends with since the seventh grade are suddenly men? Do they see me now as a woman? Weird thought, especially since I've always just been one of the guys. We used to stay up too late and sit around at somebody's house. But it was okay, we could go home and sleep late and life would be the same. Last night we stayed up too late to say goodbye to Chase on the last night before he left for basic training. Tell me that isn't the mark of being adults.

.... No, instead, tell me that Chase will always be okay.

It's 1:30 in the afternoon now, I'm sure the bus or plane or whatever he was riding in to go to Texas is now long gone from Knoxville. Chase told me that his recruiter says that if he graduates on time, he should be able to get home for a couple weeks around Christmas. That's a good thing. We'll need to round everybody up for some board games or lighter fluid burgers...or perhaps the harassing of a bag pipe player. Darien and Chase have always been my BEST partners in crime.

Our lives are so different now. I wound up here in journalism, Darien wants to work for the TBI, and Chase is on his way to the Air Force. Somehow, we grew up, and it didn't even hit me until we were sitting in the bed of the truck last night.

And there it was, a brief moment in time, for things to be like they'd always been, before we had to split again and go back to our real lives. Go well, my friends, both of you. I love you both as brothers, as much as I loev my own brother.We may not get together often, but know that I still laugh out loud when I think of our (mis)adventures. Not many girls get the chance I did. Growing up was bound to happen, but I'm sure glad I grew up with you.

“Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what's to come. But that night, I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn't have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves... for growing up.” - The Wonder Years

September

2010-09-10T17:53:00.000-04:00

It's been two months since I blogged last. I went back to Ohio, stayed longer than I expected, things came up, I came home, I moved back to Knoxville and was immediately up to my eyeballs in life.

I'm doing well. Actually, I'm doing about three trillion times better than well. I am fantastic.

God provided. My prayer all summer was that if Chad and I could be happy, that I'd keep him. Of course, I also told God that His plans are better, and to ignore me if I was fixing to walk into a trap. There was no trap. Things are slow-going for now, but maybe it's better that way. We have a lot to rebuild.

I'm the assistant news-editor for www.tnjn.com. I'm also involved in a class blog that is most likely going to link itself back to here. I was at first hesitant to let that happen because of the possible ramifications of people finding out you're a person of faith. I've heard it argued toward other people, "You can't believe a word they say! They're dumb enough to believe in God!" Hopefully that will not happen to me. If it does? Well, so be it. Following Christ was never going to be an easy thing. We were never promised that. But hey, if you're here and you've got questions, hit me up. I'll answer them the best I can.

I'm still working in the library. If journalism were to ever fall through, I would be a librarian. This job is awesome in many ways, and I am thankful for a job that allows me to pay the bills and put food on the table.

The Old Paths - Photo Text Assignment from English 364

2010-07-07T08:21:00.000-04:00

This is a photo text, inspired by Wright Morris. An English professor assigned two of these last spring in which the instruction was to find a photo, and then write about a character based on the photo. I knew immediately what photograph I wanted to use. This is a picture of an old store in Sharps Chapel, Tennessee, on the Union County/Claiborne County line. This store has also been on WBIR's Heartland Series at least once.

The Old Paths

            Jack Kennesaw was born in the country, worked and lived in the country, and swore he’d die there as well.
            He owned 20 acres in a valley between two hills near Norris Lake. There’d been more in the family before that damn TVA came in, but that’s another story. He’d had offers of over half a million dollars for his 20 acres, but he wasn’t selling it. Contractors and developers wanted to put subdivisions near the lake. There wasn’t a chance in the world of that. Jack had worked that land too hard to give it up. He’d praised and petitioned the Almighty for just enough to provide for the family, and there wasn’t enough money to convince Jack to sell.
           Time marched on and technology advanced, but he fought tooth and nail to preserve a way of life that was quickly being replaced. “Stand ye in the ways,” the Good Book says. “And see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.” The old paths are the ones Jack lived on, but he hated to admit that his soul was not always rested. Tourists coming from every which way to visit the marina meant carloads of sightseers tearing up gravel roads they couldn’t drive on. Out in town, the shopkeepers complained of increased theft and the rudeness of people who couldn’t understand that the country just runs a little slower.
           To his disappointment, Jack’s children didn’t want to stay home and work the land. They left and got jobs in the city, urging Jack to go too. But he wouldn’t have it. Until the last breath left his body, he’d be keeping the old paths.

Welcome back, July.

2010-07-01T00:12:00.000-04:00

It's been 7 days since my last blog. Summer creeps in even though the days are technically getting shorter. June is gone. Welcome back, July. Life's a lot different from the last time you were here. "Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes"...How do I measure a year? Good question, Jonathan Larson. I don't know how I'll measure the last year. I know I laughed a lot. I prayed often. I spent too much money. I worked too hard. I wasn't in church enough. I loved with all I had; I was too naive. I drank a lot of coffee. I didn't drink enough water. I studied more than I ever have in my life. I've been closer to God than ever before.

Was it a waste? I mean, praying and laughing never hurt anybody. But what about the rest? There are some things I considered to be concrete that just weren't. There's a song that Jewel sings called Stephenville, Texas. She says "Everything is temporary if you give it enough time." That's the truth.

Where am I now? Well. I've got tons of time to think about everything under the sun. I've decided that I don't like Nicholas Sparks anymore. It's like I told somebody the other day... I only hate Nicholas Sparks because I never pictured myself as the one who gets left out in the cold. The other part of that, is that sometimes our best writing springs from the worst pain. Would I trade my words in for an easier go in life? I don't even know.

All in all, I have become even more aware of the fact that God has provided for me perfectly these last two months. I'd been saving money to spot Chad any he needed to help get settled in an apartment until he got his first check. Obviously, that became a non issue, but I still had a good chunk of change. Dirhk (that's my Acura's name) was dropped into my life. And by the grace of God, I had enough money to purchase, license, and fix the car. Then, I still had the money for insurance and the cell phone bill with a little left over for gas. Praise God. Then, it occurred to me that I didn't have the money to buy the parking permit or groceries when I get back to Knoxville. I was thinking that I'd have to wait until excess aid came out before I could take the car to Knoxville, and I still wasn't entirely sure what I'd do about grocery money. God saw that though.

Friday, Darien called and said they needed help in the fireworks tent. While they've not needed me this week, I worked about 12 hours last weekend. That's earned me enough to get groceries to carry me from August 16th until excess aid distribution on the 25th.

What about the parking permit? As it turns out, my Vol Card can be used to purchase the permit. I'll just need to tell them to put enough into my Allstar account to pay for the permit. I'll have access to Allstar funds on August 16th, so that's when I'll move back to Knoxville. Class starts the 18th.

God provides. Satan still tries to destroy. Ya see, I look at what I've been given, but I also look at what I've lost. And there's a part of my mind that wonders "Well, look at what I lost. God took care of me in other ways...but what else am I gonna lose? I can't just take a consolation prize for everything, God. I can't do it!" Steal, Kill, Destroy. Satan wants me to be afraid of what God might have me to do. I think it's too easy to forget that God wants us to be blessed and happy. He tests us, but he doesn't mean for our lives to be miserable. Taste and see that the Lord is good, says the psalms. Satan wants me to be afraid of what God's doing. I believe that God has greater plans than I ever dreamed of.

"I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" Mark 9:24

Who's your Jesus?

2010-06-23T10:15:00.000-04:00

It was a bad day yesterday. But, I guess the good news is that I've not had one this bad in a while. They'll continue to get farther apart.

While I was in Ohio, I remember walking in and out of the back room at my grandparents' house. The room was once a bedroom, but is now the computer room. The shelf just inside the door holds nothing but pictures. There are albums, boxes, bins, books, and containers brimming with lifetimes worth of memories. At eye level, an album faced outward. The photo loaded into the front cover was an old photo. The clothes were easily from the 50s. The man and the woman smiled, but it is the woman who caught my eye. She was beautiful. Her hair was perfect, and she looked so poised, so graceful.

I looked at the front of the album almost every day, but it was the last day that I picked it up. It was full of old photos. The woman on the front cover? My grandfather's mother, my great grandmother. She passed away when I was 10 or 11. I'm sad to say that I don't remember much about her.

I sat down in the living room to look through the photos. Besides pictures of her, there were photos of her with my great great grandfather(her dad), her husband (my great grandfather), and various great uncles and other family members, like my grandfather's brothers and sisters.

My grandmother sat down next to me and we flipped through the photos.

"This is grandma Bass, isn't it?" I asked. The pictures morphed through the album as she aged, and in an envelope, there were more pictures with her in a form I remembered her as.

"Mhmm." My grandmother nodded.

"She's beautiful." I said. "I didn't even recognize her in this photo on the front, it doesn't look hardly anything like the way I remember her in my head."

Grammy smiled. "She was a beautiful woman. Hardworking, kind, caring, and she loved Jesus."

What a beautiful way to be remembered. She lived a hard life, I do not know a lot about it, but my great grandfather passed away when my grandfather was very young. There were many kids, and not a lot to eat. And here, nearly 10 years since her death, she's still remembered for loving Jesus.

In Luke 10, a law expert asks Jesus what he has to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus asks him how he comprehended the laws. The scholar answers "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind" and "Love your neighbor as yourself."

1 Corinthians tells us that "These three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Grandma loved Jesus. And a love for Jesus breeds a love for all people. Your love for Jesus might be the only light that other people see.

I'm working on a Beth Moore study about John the disciple. On day 40 of the study, one of the questions says, "Throughout the pages to come, we'll study John's Jesus, full of grace and truth. If your life were a Gospel like John's, who could people "believe" your Jesus to be?"

Toby Mac (when still a part of DC Talk) once sang "I don't really care if they label me a Jesus freak."

Do we care if they don't? I've asked a million times. Do we care if other people don't see it? Do we care when we do things that destroy our testimony?

Who do I tell people my Jesus is? What does He look like? Our deeds don't save us, but they sure tell a lot about the master we serve. Who's your master? What's your Jesus look like?

Why I Write

2010-06-20T09:33:00.002-04:00

Well, here I am in my blogging spot on the couch. Mom and I are the only 2 up, but that's no huge surprise. Today is Father's Day. We're making meatloaf and mashed potatoes for Dad today. I'm also making him a Peanut Butter Pie, and perhaps later I'll watch Monty Python with him. Nobody else likes it really but the two of us.

There are 10 days left in June. Sometimes I wake up and think about how time flies so quickly. Was it not last summer we were planning Hannah and Zeke's birthday parties? Wasn't that just a few weeks ago? No, an entire year of my life has come and gone. Hannah turns 19 and Zeke turns 15 this week. I don't have a lot of profound things to say about time, but I stand in awe of that fact that because of God I am on a totally different path than I had ever dreamed.

See, originally I wanted to be a music teacher. It's basically all I dreamed about until my senior year of high school when music started becoming a chore. To escape a music class, I left and went to the journalism class instead. That year we put together a school newspaper for the first time in recent history, and I soon began to love journalism more than I loved music. The problem was that there was already a spot for me to do music at UT, so that's what I did the first semester. I hated it. I flat out hated it. It got to where I couldn't even stand to listen to music in my room. In the last few semesters,I've hung on and played in various ensembles because I felt like I'd be letting somebody down. All I was doing was making myself miserable.

I gave some thought to being an English major. After all, I do enjoy reading and analyzing, but that too proved to be unsatisfactory. I enjoyed writing on the side, but the academic part of it was boring me to death. The journalism classes are the ones I enjoyed going to. They are the ones I looked forward to and got excited about. Even the one I hated because of the difficulty of the tests was enjoyable. Studying journalism gives me what I call creative outlet with purpose. They teach us to write a certain way to get as much information out as quickly as possible, but each writer has their own unique style and way of handling the guidelines. Writing for the Tennessee Journalist has been a great opportunity for me.

Looking back, I can see that writing is something I always should have been pursuing. As a kid, I kept journals and diaries. In high school, I started several stories that I wanted to become novels. I also won a trip to Washington, DC and a small scholarship based on my writing. When I got to UT, I won second place in a creative non fiction writing contest, I had a piece published by the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, I won story of the week once for the Tennessee Journalist, and I was lucky enough to participate and "win" National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words in 30 days? That's pretty good. Marathon writing was a lot of fun and I can't wait to work more on Country Roads this fall.

The statistics for journalists don't look good. As a journalist, you have to be a jack of nearly every trade. Writing, editing, filming, recording, creativity, photography, and many other duties go into being a good journalist. If you can't do those things? Good luck getting a job. News stations, newspapers, and web sites don't want to hire people needing trained. The chances for a job can appear very bleak.

That being said, this is a talent that God blessed me with. I am happy here and I feel that it's what I'm supposed to be doing. Were my other endeavors failures? Perhaps. In the context of what the model college musicians are like, yes. I didn't finish, but I got the experience I needed there. I wasn't cut out to be an English major either, but that's okay. Journalism is where I'm at home. God will provide.

I'll never make a lot of money at it, but that's okay. The love of money is the root of all evil, anyhow. In today's economy, it's easy to look and say, "She's crazy! She'll be living in a cardboard box!" Maybe. But if this is what God wants me to do, it is what I will do. Didn't the people laugh at Noah for building an ark in a place it hadn't rained in years? God's ways just aren't our own. Am I afraid of never having enough? Maybe sometimes, but doesn't God say to not worry about tomorrow because tomorrow will worry about itself? Matthew 6:26 says,"Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?"

This was never a career I'd considered until music became such a chore. God was still awesome enough to fulfill my dream of marching at Neyland Stadium and still bring me to a path that I love. I really did kind of get the best of both worlds.

Why do I write? Because it makes me happy, and it is what was put in front of me. May I glorify God with my words.

Unexpected Answers

2010-06-18T23:13:00.003-04:00

I returned from Ohio today. Zeke and I were on the road by 9:45 this morning, and arrived here in town about 5:20. We pulled out of the driveway at nine, but stops at Auto Zone, the gas station, and Dunkin Donuts put us 45 minutes behind where I wanted to be. We stopped twice, and sweated a ton because the air compressor in my car isn't working well.

That being said, besides the air compressor, my car is perfect. Gas mileage is awesome, the engine is very quiet, it turns on a dime, and the tires are basically new. I named it Dirhk. The h is silent. The part of me that loves The Blues Brothers wanted to call it "Dirk H. Tap-Dancing Car", but not many would have seen the humor in that. Papa and Uncle Chad put many hours into fixing and tweaking to get Dirhk road ready. I cooked multiple kinds of dessert and meals to feed them for their efforts.

Visiting with the family for three and a half weeks was a blessing. To see them through my adult eyes is a marvelous and wonderful experience. Each person has their own unique identity, and the chance to get to know them is so precious to me.

My cousins are growing up so quickly. To see my 11 year old cousins and know that I was only 10 when the two of them were born blows my mind. Time flies.

Angelina and Jewel Lee are at such a unique age. At 8 and 9 they are for the first time realizing that one day they'll be able to have boyfriends and eventually get married and start families. What they see at this age will forever influence how they approach relationships. Given the situation with their father, they need all the positive influence from our side of the family as we can muster.

The two of them are full of questions. Besides various women in their dad's family and their mother and our aunts, I'm the oldest girl they know. Constantly they ask me questions about college and my life at home in Tennessee. They asked me about Chad not long after I got there.

"How's Chad?!" Angelina suddenly remembered him out of the blue.

"He's alright. We aren't dating anymore."

"Oh no! You broke up?" Jewel Lee looked alarmed.

I nod. "Yep, we broke up."

"What happened?" Angelina asked it in such an accusatory tone. She's seen the reasons the other adults in her life break up...abuse, infidelity, generally bad situations, any other number of reasons.

"Sometimes," I answered. "God has bigger plans, and even though I can't put together the 'why', I have to trust God because of everybody, He is the only one who hasn't let me down yet." They told me goodnight and shuffled off to bed. I wasn't sure either one of them understood.

A couple days ago, we were sitting at breakfast and Jewel Lee says to me, "Do you still like Chad?"

I struggled for the right words. "Well," I answered. "As a fellow Christian, I wish him the best in life. As my brother in Christ, I want him to have all life has to offer." She looked confused. Again, I believed I had failed in explaining something to them, and I worried how it would affect them as they're growing up.

And finally yesterday I was watching New Moon with them. Perhaps it's a bit too grown up for them, but their father let them see Twilight, and they were dying to know what happened. It's nowhere near as bad as Nightmare on Elm Street (he also let them see that), so they were granted permission for New Moon.

There's a part at the beginning of the movie in which Edward leaves Bella. He's trying to protect her, but he goes about it all wrong. He walks away and leaves her in the woods. Of course, he's much faster than her, so he gets away while she chases him and calls for him.

Jewel Lee looks at me. "Beth, would you chase a guy who left you?"
I thought it over. "The guy who leaves isn't worth chasing," I told her.

In my head I could just see her falling for some schmuck and chasing him to the ends of the earth in the name of what she thinks is love.

"The right one doesn't walk away. He wouldn't put you in that position. So, no, I wouldn't," I answered.

Angelina and Jewel Lee looked at each other, then went back to watching the movie. Once again, I wondered if I was telling them the right stuff.

It wasn't until late last night that it occurred to me. I have asked God why, I've asked God for answers, I've asked what I should do, and I've what I shouldn't do. I've begged to have this taken from me. God answered. Sometimes, He uses interesting ways to answer. All through the bible He used things like bushes, prophets, and angels. He did what it took to get somebody's attention. What has my attention now? Two girls who are going to be facing some tough lifestyle decisions in the coming years.

What did God tell me?
- His plans are greater than mine.
- I should pray for Chad, and pray that his life will be full and blessed.
- If Chad was supposed to have been mine, he wouldn't have walked away. The right guy doesn't walk away.

Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails. Proverbs 19:21. Thank God for unanswered prayers.

Forgive by faith...

2010-05-22T23:59:00.003-04:00

Once again, wishing I had words to put here, because maybe if I can put together sentences, I can put myself back together as well.

Take it from me, Lord. I'm so done with this. I'm so tired of being hateful and bitter.

We were forgiven before we even had a chance to sin. God knew I would be sinful, that I would mess up, that I would be downright disgusting to Him, but He had already provided me with a way to make it right. Who am I to deny forgiveness to anybody?

Karen told me that sometimes you have to choose to forgive by faith when you can't do it on your own. I want to forgive, because I know that in that, I will be free. The problem is that there's still an angry, hurt part of myself that doesn't quite want to give it up yet. There is a part of me that wants to stew and play it over and over in my mind. But what will that accomplish? I'll just become bitter and cynical. And I've always had cynic tendencies. I don't need any help in that direction.

So to forgive by faith? I was confused by that at first. But I think I get it. I want to forgive, but I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. So I'll confess my heart to God, and ask Him to help me do it. I can't just do this on my own. He is the ultimate forgiver. If He forgave me knowing in advance I'd screw up, then he can help me forgive those who screwed up when I didn't expect it.

2010-05-15T19:04:00.003-04:00

I opened this tab with the plans to pour something into here to see if I could sort out some feelings. I've read the bible, I've scoured through quotes, I've thought long and hard about every single book, movie, and story I can think of, but I know of anything that can even start to describe this.

For whatever reason, I have been chosen for this trial. All I do know, is that the pain is immense. It sits somewhere deep in my chest, not so far from my collar bones. It aches all the time, it burns like fire when I am still. I have begged God to take it from me, and while He sees my pain and makes note of how I handle it, this is a burden that I bear alone.

Every day I wake up and I get out of bed and I do my thing. Then, I go to bed. And I get up the next day and do it all over. And I know that in time, I won't have to force myself anymore, that I'll go about my days and this won't weigh so heavily on my mind. I'll go about my days, and in time, I'll be "over it".

He broke up with me Tuesday night. I could tell the story, but it's long. If I don't think through it, I won't cry today, so I'll skip it. My bare left finger will tan evenly this year. The jewelry box will get a new addition. The ticket stubs, the stuffed monkey, letters, cards, and other things will get packed away. One day I'll look through the boxes and smile, I think. Maybe when I can look back and smile I'll know what "over it" feels like. I still find myself wishing that "over it" is never a place I'll have to visit. I guess that's why I am just a human, and God has it all in His hands.

The pain will dull in time. I repeat that to myself, it is my mantra. God is in control, and the pain will dull in time. God is in control, and the pain will dull in time. I am left with God and time.

My family and closest friends are doing their best to put me back together again. It may or may not be working.

I'm leaving soon, in just over two weeks. I'm going to Ohio for a while. I'm buying a car and I need to go help my papa and my uncle fix it. Then, I'll drive it home when I get good and ready to come home. We'll see how my mind has cleared while I'm gone.

I'm not sure what the worst part of this is. Knowing I wasn't enough, or knowing I wasn't worth enough for the truth. Or perhaps the worst part of all is being left to pick up the pieces while he is content to move on. Somehow, once again, I am left blind sided and heart broken. One day it will be my turn to be happy. I pray for the strength to hold on until then.

I am struck down, but not destroyed. The joy of the Lord will have to be my strength, because I am not strong now. James 1 says to consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds. May the Lord's strength show in my weakness.

Novel Excerpt 2

2009-11-06T00:02:00.001-05:00

I'm just catching up. This is the latest addition to Facebook and was posted on 11/5/2009.

We rode in silence the rest of the way to the party. Chris’s white knuckle grip on the steering wheel eventually lessened, and the tension in the car eased some. We pulled up in front of his apartment building and got out of the car. I hoped it was where the party was. I didn’t particularly want to be alone with him in the apartment.
Peter stepped out onto the balcony.
“Hey man,” he shouted. “We’re out of ice!”
“I’ll send Amy for it!” he shouted, as if he hadn’t just punched me a second time and then cursed me.
Chris tossed the keys to me and handed me a wrinkled five dollar bill.
“That should be enough,” he said, his eyes blank. “I’m sorry you know,” he added softly.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I answered.
The leather of the driver’s seat was still warm as I slid in and adjusted the rear view mirror. My sad eyes looked back at me, and I wasn’t sure I liked the person I became when Chris was around.
My mind wandered as I drove. I considered going back to campus and getting my car and going home, but that wouldn’t solve anything. What would I tell my mother, “Hey mom, Chris is a drug dealer and he’s hit me. Twice. You were right about him being a bad guy!” I snorted at the thought. Would she welcome me home? Oh sure, but I couldn’t stand the sheltering again. I briefly considered just going back to campus and never going back to the apartment, but he’d come for the car at some point, and the cops would get involved then.
At the gas station, I parked and went inside. My leg throbbed with each step. The bathroom was in the back corner, and I stepped in, latching the door behind me. A bruise the size of a softball was appearing, a knot already popped up. It was then the tears fell as I remembered all the times I’d seen the posters that said, “Love never hurts” and other equally cheesy things. It was official. I had become a statistic. A battered woman. Well, I thought. That’s sure something to add to the resume.
Somebody knocked on the door.
“I’ll be right out,” I called, my voice stronger than I expected.
“Please hurry. I have a four year old with a bladder the size of a pea!”
I splashed some cold water on my face and limped out of the restroom to the cooler for the ice.
It was on the ride home that I decided I was leaving Chris. I decided to get a restraining order or something. Something had to be done.

Novel Excerpt 1

2009-11-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

As I'm participating in NanoWrimo, I'm planning on posting some excerpts here every few days, as well as to Facebook. Let me know what you think!

“I’ll take a Mountain Dew,” Jewel answered.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Me too.”
“How do you want the ice?”
“A good amount will be fine,” I answered.
Jewel laughed a little. “One of the other advantages of the Joint is that you can pick the sort of ice you have. They have ice cubes that are made from mountain dew or coke or anything else so your drink doesn’t get watered down. You can get slushy ice if you want. They have frozen glasses if you’re into that. They’ll give you no ice. I’m sure Willy would even nuke a coke if you asked.”

English Creative Assignment 1, Fall 2009, an Imitation of Regionalist Writing

2009-10-26T11:18:00.001-04:00

Just an Excerpt, but here it is:

The First of His Class
Declan Jacobs drove home to Lynnwood on a brisk October day. The leaves drifted lazily to the earth as he zoomed through the curves on east Highway 63. It had been 7 years since his last journey into the hills of East Tennessee. His grandparents were long dead, his siblings and parents more than happy to make the trip to see him and Kate in Raleigh.
Declan smiled as he made the right turn onto Highway 27 north from 63. The locals were still set up in the old gravel pull-off, selling their never ending supply of yard sale items. On a whim, he pulled in to check out the wares.
The BMW looked out of place among the rusty trucks and beat up vans that were so common among the yard sale crowd.
He approached the closest table and looked over it; a few arrowheads, unused candles, board games, ladies’ clothing, three seasons of the Beverly Hillbillies, what-nots, a ceramic garden angel, and some perfect carving pumpkins.
The lady behind the table looked up. “Lookin’ for anything particular?”
“No, Ma’am,” he answered. “Unless you have any old bluegrass records.”
“Nope, sure ain’t. But Ed down at the end was going on about….Declan Jacobs! Is that you, sure enough?”
Declan looked closer at the woman, before the realization hit him. “Miss Coretta!” The tiny woman jumped up and hugged him.
“I’ve not seen you in a coon’s age! Where have you been?”
“Raleigh. My wife and I moved out there after college.”
“You got to be kiddin’. A wife? Raleigh? What are you doing out there?”
“ By day I’m Dr. Jacobs, professor of music history. By night? Declan the saxophonist for a local jazz band called Sunday Best.”
“Ya don’t say,” she smiled. “Well, I retired from the school about 3 years back. James and I spend our days junkin’. There’s good money in it if you know when to set up.”
“Glad to hear it, Miss Coretta. Made anything today?”
“Some. Say, what brings you into town?”
“Have you heard about Carter Newport?”
Miss Coretta’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Declan. You and him were the best of friends.”
“We sure were,” he answered. “He’s the first of our class, ya know. It seems so soon.”
“It always seems too soon with stuff like this, honey. Always.”
“I guess that’s very true,” he nodded. “I’m going to head on to Mom and Dad’s. I supposed I’ll be seeing you later?”
“Yup. I’m certainly planning on being at the viewing tonight.”
Declan got back into the car, and pulled back onto the highway. Carter had just been to see him two months ago, they’d spoken by email just last week, and then he got the phone call two nights before. A drunk driver had run right through a red light, and hit his car head on going about 50 miles an hour. Carter was gone so quick he likely didn’t feel a thing. The first member of the Lynnwood High Class of 2000 was gone.
Calling hours and the funeral were held that night. Carter had been a well liked member of the class, and many high school classmates were in attendance. It was an odd time for a class reunion, odd to feel happy about old friends but still so sad at the loss of another. There was so much catching up to do. He’d lost contact with many, and it seemed so wrong that the only reason they were together again was because of a death.

Test

2009-10-26T11:08:00.000-04:00

Just a test. Let's see if this tweets itself out.

Untitled.

2009-10-25T21:42:00.003-04:00

So here is where something funny, witty, or otherwise entertaining should go. I've been agonizing about this all day. I was told to blog and get an online presence, that it would help me if I ever tried to publish a book. I don't know how I'll write a book if I can't turn out 500 words of blog a few times a week.

I can't keep beating myself up over being a bad writer every time I get online or then nobody will read this thing for sure. I can't always write about how deeply, madly in love I am with Chad...partly because nobody wants to see that and partly because I don't know enough words to describe what I feel.

It's nearly November here in Knoxville. Each day as I look out over campus from my dorm room I can see that a few more leaves have changed. Where is the time going? I used to want time to stop so I could catch my breath. Now I just wish it would give me 30 seconds to write it down.

I'm here in the library tonight, 2 hours and 9 minutes until quitting time. The blind lady was back in here tonight. I always enjoy helping her out. She's very sweet and graceful.

I helped out a couple of people on Tuesday night that have been sticking to my mind since then. It was a mother and her son in high school. Obviously, they were very poor, and didn't smell that great, but he needed to be logged onto a computer to take a test. I wound up having to log him on as me because a guest log in wouldn't allow him to download a program he needed to take the test. Throughout the night, talking to his mother and him, I learned that she home schooled him and they couldn't afford a computer at home. His grandfather was paying for him to take classes at Roane State. His mother's brother passed away at the beginning of the school year and it's been a rough semester for him. He completes all his home school work and is taking 14 hours. He graduates in high school in May. While he worked on his test, his mother browsed Craigslist for a computer. Obviously, with no Allstar account, she couldn't print anything, so I used some of my money to print some stuff and she started scraping change from her billfold. I tried to tell her to keep it, but she stacked up some change, maybe 17 cents, and sat it in front of me. I didn't see any other money in her wallet. I pray to God it wasn't her last 17 cents.

God puts random people in our lives sometimes, and I can't always figure out why. They've been on my mind alot this last week, and I hope he does well in all he tries, and I am in awe of his mother as she is obviously struggling so hard to see that he gets further in life than she did.

October? You're Here?

2009-10-22T00:05:00.003-04:00

Whew.

Time has flown. It's October and I have to do better at blogging or this whole writing thing is going to be a waste of my time.

I'm getting ready to participate in National Novel Writing Month next month. We have a group here in Knoxville that is going to be meeting regularly. Here are links to facebook, twitter, and the official Nanowrimo site.

Knoxville Nanowrimo Facebook Group.

KnoxWrimo Twitter

For anybody who might be confused about what National Novel Writing Month is, their website is here. The idea is to write 50,000 words between November 1 and 30 without any thought given to editing. It's all quantity over quality, but it eliminates the question of "can I write a book?" 50,000 words evens out to between 150 and 200 pages. That's a respectable story length.

Academia is eating my brain, but the desire to put stuff down on paper prevails.

Frustration

2009-06-27T23:46:00.003-04:00

I haven't managed to update this things in nearly three weeks. FAIL.

I had a brilliant idea earlier. I was feeling inspired. I was going to write. It was finally going to be worth something.

And I got blocked. I lost my train of thought. I forgot where it was going. It didn't seem to make sense. And here I am with about three hours of printing some stuff, doing some research and thinking, and I have nothing to show for it. NOTHING.

I want to write a musical, but I simply don't have the know how to make it work. I cannot wrap my mind around writing one. I don't even want to write my own songs. I want to use James Taylor songs. Or any old song for that matter. But I love musicals. I just don't know how to write one and I don't have the music theory knowledge in my mind to do so, and I don't know that I want to learn the theory to make it work. I can't compose.

I am so sick of being interested in things that either you are good at or you aren't. There's no room for "just skirting by" in any music industry or writing or anything like that. And on the musical front, I don't know that I want to play French horn again. Ever. I have been playing. But I don't have any enjoyment in it. I'm self conscious at my lack of ability to play it well. I'm positive that they're all commenting on how bad I am at it. I had a freebie year, but if I don't shape up this year, I can't expect any leeway anymore. And besides having a low self esteem about the stupid thing, I can also look forward to a less than decent jury grade. Dear High School down program, you failed me. Thank you for hiring an incompetent director in my senior year who couldn't/wouldn't help me. Thank you for not supporting us more and providing the resources to help us all get private lessons. Thank you for sending me into the big bad college music world to get eat alive and consider dropping out. Thanks for the memories, because the "skills" I learned didn't amount to a hill of beans when it counted.

But here I am, still lugging the stupid thing around. Why? Why can't I put it down? Why don't I have the courage to turn the thing in and go to Calvin and tell him thanks for his help, but I'm not interested anymore? I mustered up the guts to tell Dr. Ryder that I quit. Why can't I tell Calvin I quit this too? I'm a quitter. Good grief. Will I ever finish a project? Ever? When I'm old, what will I look back on and say "I finished that, and it was good. I followed through, and look where it brought me."?

But if I turn loose of the one constant in my life, what do I have? And I know I have my faith and all this other junk...but what do I hold in my hands and say "This. This is mine..."?

Musings....I should really come up with better titles.

2009-06-08T00:43:00.002-04:00

So I don't even know where to start.

I sort of swore to myself that I wouldn't turn my blog into anything rambling or sickly sweet and I would keep it something normal and not too mushy...but I have had a mushy week and am now full of mushy feelings.

Nana and I got back late Friday night after spending the week in Alabama with Chad. He's doing some programming work this summer and we figured it'd be a great chance for Nana to have a vacation and for me to visit some with Chad and ensure that he has at least some good homecooked meals in him for a week.

First thing on Monday, he woke me up for a minute before he left to kiss me and tell me goodbye. When I woke up, I organized his kitchen and straightened the place up before I cleaned the kitchen. Then I relaxed all day and made him dinner. Dinner was done not long after he came in from work, and he kissed me hello.

Thus was the pattern for most of the week. We went out some nights after dinner. but I spent my days with Nana and my evenings with the both of them. And I loved it. It was so domestic, but so...perfect. I always figured I'd hate being wife-ish, but I enjoyed doing the cooking and straightening and just chilling around the house this last week. Of course, it would drive me crazy to stay at home all day every day forever, but it wasn't bad for week.

Now that he is back in Alabama and I am once again home, I feel his absence even more. Maybe being there to visit for a week only made it hurt worse...but how sweet it was to be there with him anyway. I love him so much more than I have words for, and I can't wait to see where all life takes us.

When I am with Chad, I just can't help but be so aware of the fact that God is amazing and He provides. His plans are greater than any of ours, and I am forever grateful for not only the gift of true love, but for the gift of eternal life with our loved ones. Praise the Lord.

Some thoughts.

2009-05-28T23:32:00.002-04:00

So there are a few things I think about often.

1. Christian literature, that is, fiction novels about Christians by Christians, are generally preachy and fake and don't ever scratch the surface of how complex we are as humans and how our flesh and faith battle sometimes.
2. I love the fact that all people are connected by something. This world is tinier than we could ever imagine.
3. God gives us talents and ideas and thoughts and expects us to do something with them.

Let's see what happens next!

Up on the roof...

2009-05-17T22:34:00.003-04:00

"On the roof, it's peaceful as can be..."

So here I am on the couch. The cat is giving me the evil eye, the dog, ever the decorator, is dragging furniture around on the porch, and the mythbusters ruin Hollywood's fun from the confines of the television, and I just sit. I'm tired. I'm restless. I'm bored. I'm anxious. I'm...lonely.

What a rough week. We moved Chad to Alabama on Friday. I'm now positive that Tennessee's quality just went down with him gone. I HATE Alabama, but my sad soul has nearly convinced my brain that it isn't so bad there, and I should go. But then my conscience (what a nag) kicks in to remind me that I can't live with a man I'm not married to whether we're sleeping together or not. And the end result? I just sit. I miss him more than anything. I want to be wherever he is. The reality is that he'll be home to visit in a couple weeks. That isn't SO bad. But then he'll just be gone again.

I've been kicking a story idea around for a while, but nothing good seems to be coming from it. I don't know how to make it work or where to start or how to keep it from being preachy or anything like that. Writing fail. I find myself wanting to be sitting up on a roof, just like old James Taylor. It seems like a good place for tortured artists. Or well, it seems to work for James who goes to escape the world. According to "Your Song" Elton John goes up there to figure out some verses. I want to go sit on the roof and see what I can get figured out. Come to think of it, it works for some people in one of my favorite books. Then again, the only three people I can think of that mention sitting on the roof are a former drug addict, a flaming homosexual, and a character in a book dying of HIV. Maybe I need a better reason to sit on the roof.

Do I have what it takes to be a writer? Will it happen? Is it a dream or a delusion? Dreams or delusions was a topic for Dr. Phil one day. I think I made the note that a dream is only a delusion if you aren't working hard enough. I'm delusional if I think being writer blocked all the time is going to ever get me anything decent. So, if anybody finds any random ideas lying around, send them my way.

Summer's creeping in...

2009-04-20T13:45:00.004-04:00

So the sun is setting on my first year of college. What a trip! I can't wait for the next 3 years..or 4 years..or however long it takes me to get out of here and get on with life. I have to say, I've had some good and bad times here, and I've learned a lot.

1. Music is my hobby, no longer my life. At home, I had music and marching band to keep me busy and out of trouble. Here, there are other things to do and I don't define myself by the music anymore. Do I love it? Passionately, but strictly as a hobby. I'm not supposed to be teaching it or slaving away over it, just enjoying it.
2. They babied us in high school. And that has caused some super stress and an occasional bad grade, but I've come out on the other side able to encourage my sister to push for the best now and push for even better in college because she won't come out of high school well equipped.
3. I like writing. Scratch that, I love it, and it's where I'm at home at. I've just nuts enough for it, and I'm feeling greatly encouraged by it. I've been given some validation on the writing front, and I'm so excited for where that part of my life is going.
4. Not having a roommate is a blessing and a curse. A curse because you have to take out the trash and the recycling by yourself all the time; a blessing because it's like a trial run for a future apartment or something. I've basically been living by myself, and it's totally cool. Though, that's not to say that Chad and Audrey and Isaiah or Megan aren't here from time to time. Heck, even Darien has been here once. I have my own place for people to come visit me in. That is totally awesome.
5. God doesn't go anywhere, we walk away. But, He's so excited when we come back. He honors a repentant heart and is forever merciful. To quote the Chris Tomlin song, "You see the depths of my heart, and you love me the same. You are amazing, God." I've also learned that God provides answers and ways out of temptation and the ability to love others and be a light to others that might not ever have a light. He puts people in our lives and gives us all kinds of chances everyday. College showed me how close God can be if you'll lean on Him.
6. Loving somebody is warm and fuzzy at first, but then that gives away to a different deeper kind of love. I'm so thankful as my relationship with Chad grows and we become more in tune to each other.
7. Professors are sometimes agenda pressers. Agendas are like hairdryers. Most everybody has one, and they all blow.
8. Sometimes, you have to stand up for what you believe in, even if it means walking away from something you thought you wanted all your life.

But anyway, I know I've learned more than that, but we'll call that the short list.

I came in second place in a writing contest a couple weeks ago, that is the validation I mentioned. It's a 50 dollar prize. The contest was creative non-fiction. The story I wrote is on the blog, a few posts back. It's an older version of it. The submitted version was a little more organized with better dialogue with Chad's family.

Chad purchased a car on Friday while we were home. Well, he put down 50 dollars on a car. Dad will be here in about half an hour to get us so we can go home and Chad can write the check for it. Plans to go to Alabama are going strong. The security clearance forms are working their way through being analyzed and there are plans in the works to drive down one Saturday and look at the place. The only biggie left to overcome is Chad actually has to pass a driving test. I'm scared for him to be driving all the way to Alabama not long after getting his license, but what else can I really do besides pray for his safety and little traffic? Him being in Alabama will be good for his future job prospects, it will be good for saving money up for a future wedding, and it will be good for our relationship. Not to say that I think we need time apart, that's not it at all. Even now I just cry sometimes knowing I'm going to miss him. But, if we can survive a summer of not seeing each other much, we'll be able to overcome anything. It'll be really good for strengthening what we've got.

I get to go home for the summer next Friday. I can start hunting for a job and pray that I get one quick so I can also start dumping money into savings for a wedding and maybe get a fund going to help pay back student loans. Those darn student loans. Maybe if I get enough work in this summer, I can just NOT take out one at all next year. I'm hoping that after two more semesters of school that I'll have enough marketable skills to get an internship of my own somewhere around here.

Sometimes I wonder

2009-04-05T23:42:00.002-04:00

If you don't care that people label you a Jesus freak...do you care if they don't?

Negative Action

2009-04-03T13:53:00.004-04:00

So today I find myself angry and incredulous at how ridiculous the world is sometimes.

Chad won't get to work in Oak Ridge this summer because the lab has partnered with historically black universities to do the whole mentor/mentee thing, and they have a certain quota to fill. There's a problem here. The historically black universities that they have partnered with don't have good computer science programs, and the GPAs are too low to be considered at any other time besides here where they HAVE to. So the honest to God above truth is that some black people who are not qualified to have the jobs are going to have them. They aren't unqualified because they are black. They are unqualified because they did not go to schools with good CS departments. That's what it comes down to. You have to pick a school that has is strong in the program you want to study. And, it's not enough that their school doesn't have a strong program, they have a bad GPA in a bad program, but they are getting an unfair advantage because of their skin color.

I love all people, honestly. The bible tells me to love them, and I was raised in a house where people weren't thought of in terms of their color, but in terms of who they are. Sounds like something some famous civil rights leaders might say, yes? For as far as the country has come in being tolerant, there are a lot of people with dark skin holding themselves back. The president of the United States is black man. Anything is possible if they try. For example, UT has a good CS program. Why not come to UT if they wanted to study CS? It's not an issue of money. As a matter of fact, there are minority scholarships available here. I want to write for a magazine. UT has a good journalism school. Why would I go to a school that doesn't have a good journalism program if I wanted to be a journalist of any kind? Why?! Historically black university. Good for them. We are not going to get past racism in this country until we STOP looking at race. So, for all of you reading (who am I kidding, nobody's reading this) quit filling your race out on job applications. It doesn't matter. We are all just people to God and we should be just people to each other. I'm sick of hearing that people of color are underprivileged. Everybody gets dealt a certain hand in life, and we gotta do the best with what we have. If you are determined enough and want to work hard enough, you'll make it. You can do anything you want to do. Are there not white children just as much as there are black children who get beat growing up, not knowing where their next meal is coming from? Are there not white children who grow up in the hood next door to black children? We come from different places and backgrounds and lifestyles, but it is OUR OWN responsibility to choose where we go to school and what we do in life. We have to take responsibility for ourselves.

2009-03-15T22:05:00.002-04:00

So I'm home for spring break. I'm currently rocking in the recliner, watching MASH, and trying to decide what all I want to do this week. It's good to be home. The semester has proven to be long and sometimes difficult; some R and R in the big O will be good for me. Provided I still manage to do some studying and get some homework done before I go back next weekend.

The things I most want to get done this weekend include spending some quality time with Nana, seeing Granny, going to visit Uncle Curt, getting my driver's license replaced, getting my laundry done, visiting with Mabe and Isaiah, going to see Isaiah's grandparents, and visiting some old teachers at good old OHS. Of course, I also want to catch up with some other people I know.

I love it when the weather starts getting warmer around here. The tree frogs have already been singing. Dad is getting ready to till up the ground and get a garden going this week. Sometimes I feel like my life has been marked by summers, each one unlike the one before and the one coming. Richard Paul Evans once said that if a summer night could talk, it would speak of romance. My summers will always speak of lessons learned and romance to be had.

Before I left Knoxville, I submitted some of my work in some creative writing contests on campus. I hope my work is chosen. The prizes are money, and money is good, but I also want to know how I did. My English professor believes my work is good, but what about a panel of people from the English department? I want to succeed as a writer.

I'm in the market for a summer job, as is Chad. Hopefully, Y12 will want him this summer. Otherwise, he may have to go to Alabama to work. I don't want him to go, and he doesn't want to go. But if it's Alabama or sitting in Chapel, he'll be in Alabama. The irrational part of me wants to go with him, to marry him and become Mrs. Braden and be his wife, but that's a no go. He has a year of school left, and I have several years. We can't blow it by jumping the gun. It'll all get done on God's timing. I'm trusting the Lord for the job in Oak Ridge, and to give us the strength and courage to face a long summer apart of that isn't the case.

As for a summer job for me? I'm an alternate for the conference assistant post. Hopefully, that'll pan out for me. I'm praying about that too. It would be awesome if enough people find other work that I get hired before training starts. It's not a bad gig. I'd have to work some overnight shifts, but that's fine. It'd be good money. Otherwise, I'll be here in Oneida. Evidently, some stimulus money is supposed to open up some jobs for youth between 17 and 24 with government offices. I could be a clerk there at the driver's license place all summer. I could file junk in the court house. I don't care, as long as it's minimum wage and around 30 hours a week, I'll be fine. I need to start putting money up for helping with school, getting a cell phone, paying off student loans, and financing a wedding. I also have to find a job in Knoxville when I get back in the fall. Hopefully, I'll find work on the strip at like McAlister's or somewhere closer to the intersection so I can easily catch a late night bus when I get off work. My non working days are OVER.

In the year that King Uzziah died...

2009-02-03T23:05:00.002-05:00

Isaiah six starts out, "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord"

Uzziah was very important to Isaiah. He was a mentor, a friend. And then one day, Uzziah was gone. At the Walk last Tuesday night, it was set as if maybe Isaiah goes to the church the next day after Uzziah dies, and sits down. Maybe he was wondering, "What do I do now? Who will take care of me?" And then, God comes to say, "Hey, let go of those problems. I'm bigger than that."

I believe we see the Lord in the tough times in life. Everything works for the good of God. How often bad things have happened in life, and I've seen God. In the year that Angie died...In the year that Johnathan broke up with me...In the year that I nearly lost my little sister...The list goes on and on. It's like the verse that says, "many are the plans in a man's heart, but in the end the Lord's purpose prevails"

How prone I've been in the past few months to stray from God. How faithful that He still loves me. I thank God that sometimes, I feel like I might have just glimpsed some of the bigger picture. I wonder how much it'll take to get back to the level of closeness I felt to him as summer wore on after camp. I will reap what I sow, and I haven't sowed good things lately. I've done and said things I shouldn't. I've not been a good Christian. I've not taken chances. I haven't always prayed and I almost quit reading the bible.

The devil has pushed at me even harder since I've started going to church here. He is the father of lies. He tries to convince me that God doesn't want me because of the things I've done. I fight against that and then he tries to get me with other temptations of the flesh, and then he condemns me for those desires.

I've learned that college is totally a place to be myself, and I'll either keep close to God or I won't. I have the free will to do what I wish, but God wants more than anything for me to be close. He has a purpose for me greater than i could ever imagine, but that'll only work if I stay close.

Leatherwood Holler - A True Story

2009-01-09T08:08:00.001-05:00

“Leatherwood Holler,” he told me.
“Right,” I answered. Leatherwood Holler: Our destination for a Christmas Eve meal with his family; family that will eventually become my own family.
“It’s about half an hour from the house,” he told me. That didn’t surprise me. Everything is at least half an hour from his house.
4 days shy of our tenth-month-of-dating-anniversary, I went to see Chad’s momma’s family in a holler, deep in Claiborne County. Of course, having no vehicle of my own, it was an event that took some finagling, but it was finally decided I could go if my parents dropped me off and then retrieved me after the dinner took place. By drop me off, I mean that I drove to Sharps Chapel with my dad dozing in the passenger seat, and my mother in the back, asking every 20 minutes or so if we were there yet. “Payback,” she told me, when I asked her if it was necessary.
He was the only one home when I got there, his parents and brother gone to the barn to feed the cows.
“See you at 9!” I told my parents as it began to sprinkle the rain a little. I followed Chad into the house, leaving Christmas cookies and a Christmas card on the counter. The two weeks since we said our holiday goodbyes seemed like years. “They’ll like you, Beth,” He promised me.
I was nervous. I’d only talked to his parents a few times since we had started dating, and it was a big deal to be meeting some extended family. I wasn’t all that worried about liking them. However, I was having a hard time winning his parents over. What about his mother’s siblings?
They soon returned from the barn. “Howdy Howdy,” his mother told me as she come through the door.
“Hey,” I answered. “How are ya today?”
“Just fine. Been feedin’ my cows.”
Chad’s father sat down at the woodstove to rekindle the fire. “Let the fire go out, didn’t ya, son?” His dad asked. The word “fire” came out as “farur”. Chad rolled his eyes a little. “It ain’t cold in here.”
Their accents made me smile, and made mine come through even worse. Chad and I were raised in the hills of Tennessee. Being from Ohio, my mother didn’t have the accent, so mine isn’t always so evident. Chad’s parents are country people, and they speak as such.
Chad’s brother, 16 year old Robert, came through the door a few moments later. “Hey, Robert!” I said as he walked by us and towards his room. He doesn’t speak to me much.
“Well that was rude,” Chad commented.
“I told ‘im to behave hisself, so he aint sayin’ a word,” his mother said from the kitchen.
“It’s not that I’m not sociable,” she continued a few minutes later. “I’m just cleanin’ up a little.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely alright,” I told her, smiling. “Just take your time.”
It wasn’t long after that we were on our way to Leatherwood Holler. The 5 of us piled into the minivan; Chad’s father driving, his mother in the back, Robert in the passenger seat, and Chad and I in the middle two seats of the van. Slowly, his dad drove the vehicle back towards the main highway, but soon veered left down a road off of a dead man’s turn.
“Go around by the church house, Dad,” Chad told him. “It’s made of log,” he said to me.
The left we took became a right handed turn later on down the road, followed by another left.
“I was raised out here,” his mother told me. “I’ll show ya.”
“My aunt Edna lives in the house that Momma grew up in,” Chad added.
We wound our way deep into the hills of Claiborne County. The road grew narrow and twistier with each minute, and I laughed at the people who kept their cows on the hills surrounding the hollers we drove through. It was as if I had stepped back into a different generation, a different time even. Electric lines were all that run through there. Cable doesn’t reach that far into the hills. Satellite television can’t be received because of the high hills surrounding each side.
Chad and his mother narrated the drive. “My uncle was going to build a house on top of that old barn. He never did,” I was told.
“See them cows on the hill? It’s funny to watch them wear a zig zag path down the front of it.”
And then a few minutes later, “Every one of my brothers and sisters went to school there but me.”
About 15 or 20 minutes into our drive, we came by one of the most magnificent buildings I believe I’ll ever see: the Leatherwood Baptist Church. Built in late 1800’s, it’s a one room building made of square logs. The fellowship hall was added later as a separate building, and parishioners have to walk to the other side of the parking lot to use the restrooms that were once outhouses, now resembling bathrooms in a city park. Services are still held regularly there, and from what I understand, homecoming always draws a crowd so big that not everybody can get in the church.
Another 7 minutes, and Chad’s dad pointed to a house on the hill. “That’s where we’re headed.”
“Oh really?” I laughed as the road suddenly turned right and started up the side of the hill. As it turned out, they weren’t kidding.
Chad and I got out and walked the rest of the way up the hill while his father parked the van next to an electric fence on the road. The aunt Edna motioned us in. Chad’s mother is the baby of her family, and she was in her mid thirties when she had Chad, thus making all her siblings as old as or older than my own grandparents. I smiled politely and shook hands with all the people on my way to the living room. Chad and I sat down on the couch.
“Where’re ya from?” a random uncle asked me.
“Oneida,” I answered. “It’s a good ways from here. Ever been?”
“Mhmm,” he answered.
I was properly introduced to everybody that came in. Aunts with cigarettes hanging from their mouths, cousins with jaws full of Skoal, second cousins in middle and high school.
After grace was said by another cousin wearing a shirt that said, “Jesus died for MYSPACE in heaven,” everybody jumped up to dip a plate of food from the kitchen, and then reclaim a seat on any open furniture before somebody else did. The table in the kitchen was covered with food, and a table in an ajoining room held almost as much dessert.
After dinner, one of Chad’s first cousins got out the camera. One by one they rounded up the family groups, taking pictures of this family and that, this aunt of Chad’s and her kids and grandkids, the “married in” aunts and uncles, the “married in” cousins, Chad’s mom and all her siblings.

As I sat amidst this annual gathering, a million thoughts swirled in my mind. I thought of all the years of life marked by family photos on an old worn couch in an old worn house. I wondered if I was living up to their standards. I wondered if they thought I was stuck up for wearing something besides a T-shirt. I remembered my disdain for chewing and smoking tobacco. It was at that moment an aunt with cigarette lit asked, “Does this burn your eyes, honey?”
“No Ma’am,” I answered (lied) politely. My mother raised me better than to tell somebody they couldn’t smoke in their own house.
Finally, it was decided that the presents could be opened and I watched as they dove into presents, hoarding wrapping paper. The minute the last bit of ribbon hit the ground, the annual wrapping paper fight took place, and I grabbed all I could to hit Robert in the face. Chad’s mother cheered me on.
We left not long after the presents were opened, winding our way out of the holler to Chad’s house. “They loved you,” he promised me in the backseat of the family minivan. We continued to chat on the way to his house, doing our usual joking about buying expensive stuff for a house we someday hope to own. While waiting on my parents to come get me from his house, his dad broke out the family tree.
“You better make sure no names look familiar!” his mother joked.
We talked until my parents came back. And then the three of them followed me outside so our parents could meet. It was a meeting long in the making. My parents are 15 years younger than his; his parents got a bit of a late start. My parents have been out into the world; his have stayed close to home and made a life on the farm. The only thing the four of them having in common is that they have to learn to like each other because their children will be together forever.
After we all talked for a few minutes, it was time to make the long drive home to Oneida. My mother laughed to hear how pronounced my accent was after spending the evening with Chad’s family. I smiled to myself, it’s just part of being from the south to speak with an accent, whether society considers it a mark of stupidity or not.
I trust Chad when he says that they liked me. I enjoy their company, and they treat all the in laws just like family. I know I’ll be afforded the same treatment. No matter what, southerners take care of their own, and that’s increasingly important in a world where you can’t rely on much of anything but God above and the family that surrounds you.
In another few years, Chad and I will both be done with college, holding degrees that make us qualified for real work. We’ll probably live in a city and drive nice cars. If it all works out, we’ll own the nice house and the fancy kitchen gadgets and a big dog that eats shoes. No matter what we own in life or how much money we make, we’ll still be from the country whether the masses like it or not. I’ve been guilty of trying to hide where I’m from, but I won’t any longer. We have to see where we’ve been to know where we’re going.
I look forward to family gatherings to come, for both my side and for his. I look forward to the days when I am included in the random family pictures and can maybe bring a side dish of my own to the family dinner. It is a comfort to know that wherever life may find the two of us, there’s a group of old country people waiting to welcome us into their home whenever we can get ourselves over that way.

2008-12-18T13:21:00.006-05:00

2008-12-16T21:45:00.004-05:00