Happy and sad

Tonight we went to the Carols by Candlelight service at church.

It's a strange thing, the Christmas Eve service. While many people you know are there, those who live in the surrounding neighborhoods and seldom attend church except for Christmas and Easter come as well, and it feels bigger and a little more alien. But not in a bad way.

Everyone received their little white candle, and we all proceeded to hold them throughout the service - short and sweet, with carols and songs and a little message from the pastor. My little sister got impatient at one point and motioned for me to lean down so she could whisper in my ear, "When do we get to light the candles?"

The fire hazard jokes abound, so we didn't until the very end.

I've always loved Christmas. I don't know if it was the same when I was little, but for me the stuff is a little peripheral. I love the decorations. I love the anticipation. I love eggnog and gingerbread. And I love knowing, just for a little while, that Christmas spirit means something to people. To paraphrase what my dad said recently, it's an achievement that Jesus, over two thousand years later, continues to have a holiday in his name that stands for peace on earth and goodwill toward men. Christmas makes me happy; I bounce when I hear songs on the radio and play them on the piano and sing them while I wash the dishes, and I wear Santa hats, and I anticipate like a little kid.

But when we lit the candles at the end of that service, all of them from the white candle in the middle of the Advent wreath - the one called the Messiah candle - it was bittersweet, somehow, to watch the lights go off and watch the candle flames multiply. Then our pastor talked about how God could have done this in a much more magnificent way. He could have proclaimed to the whole world, beyond doubt, that his Son had come to save us. But he wants us to do it. He wants us to tell the news and pass along our candle flames, one soul at a time. They're so fragile. But one candle goes to another goes to another, and before long everyone's is lit.

It's late and my thoughts are fragmented, but this does tie in, I promise.

Luke 16:19-35

"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

"The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham's side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.'

"But Abraham replied, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.'

"He answered, 'Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father's house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.'

"Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.'

" 'No, father Abraham,' he said, 'but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.'

"He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

What I take from this story - and I don't know whether it's a story or a parable, but the meaning remains - is this: If we can look from Heaven to Hell, or Paradise to Hades, across the chasm, that means that every soul I knew whose candle flame was never lit will be there, on that other side.

I can't think of it without tearing up. I'm sitting here, typing this, trying not to cry. I'm thinking of standing there, in heaven, knowing that there is an uncrossable chasm between me and the people I knew and loved, and that there is no hope for them. Not any more.

Those are my thoughts tonight. Joy and sorrow. I'm so indescribably full of life and love and I'm so blessed and I could jump up and down and scream, but even with the joy comes knowledge that maybe some of those flames won't be lit.

Maybe you're reading this and you think I'm stupid and religious and I'm upset over nothing.

I pray that one day I'm not looking across at you. I pray that you'll be standing beside me.

Love life. Love life eternal.

Merry Christmas.

Looky up!

It is the season for a new header! A day late, as it happens; I meant to have one for the official first day of winter, but we'll pretend that's when it was. I'm exceedingly pleased with my color- and theme-matching skills. I harbor no illusions that I'm a brilliant graphic-maker, but it's kinda pretty.

In other news:

I love my job. It's fun, and the people are warm and welcoming, and I finally feel like I know what I'm doing when I walk in. I can't believe I get paid to do this. Books are amazing.

Christmas is coming too early. But - but - it can't be the 23rd already! I want to spend another week or so getting in the mood! I like all the decorations! I'm enjoying the anticipation (anticipation is the best part of any event) and I don't want to know what my presents are quite yet. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men sounds good to me all year round, actually.

Now there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people."

Merry Christmas

Nope, not Happy Holidays. Not Season's Greetings. Not Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, or Winter Lights. My mom recently commented that I should rename my blog 'Rants' so maybe I'll try to be slightly less rabid about this particular pet peeve (because being rabid generally doesn't get you many places in life.)

However.

I am of the opinion that, in the recent trend toward quavering political correctness, those who maintain that our Christmas festivities are merely a winter holiday should insist that they not have time off school or work, buy presents for no one, and decline to receive any. After all, we don't give presents at the summer solstice, do we?

I have also noticed a trend in people who hold such opinions. They do not belong to visible minorities (you know, the ones they claim are offended by nativity scenes and Christmas trees.) They do, however, belong to a left-wing, politically correct sphere of influence, and are themselves a minority. I dare to postulate that ordinary people, stopped on the streets or wherever, probably have no more problem with a baby in a manger than I do; but they are assigned a phantom grievance by those who do have a problem.

And like all tiptoing that goes on around visible minorities, this is dumb. Majorities should be more important than minorities, particularly in a democratic country where majority rules. If you don't want to celebrate Christmas, fine. Stay home. Don't drink eggnog, don't have a tree, politely or not-so-politely refuse gifts, and spit on candy canes. Mutter a 'bah humbug' now and then. If you must, tell me you don't celebrate Christmas when I tell you to have a merry one, and then revel in the awkward silence that follows.

By all rights, your personal preferences should not mean that the sight of a baby in a manger is taboo, or that the word 'Christmas' may not be uttered and must instead be replaced with the mundane 'holiday season' or 'winter celebration'. I might detest purple but that doesn't mean I throw a fit and insist that nobody anywhere must ever wear it again.

Okay. Rant over.

Merry Christmas :)

The wish list

I actually think a wish list is a selfish concept. That's why I'm so reluctant to have one. I mean, think about it, Christmas is a time of year during which, ideally, we realize the value of giving vs receiving, and how spending time with the people you love is more important than the stuff you get.

That's not to say I don't enjoy the stuff. But a lot of the enjoyment I get out of the stuff is knowing that someone bought it especially for me, thinking of me. For example: Last Christmas my sister bought me a little mirror for my bathroom. It wasn't big or anything, or flashy, but I really appreciated it, because she'd noticed I didn't have one. This is the same reason I dislike giftcards - if you don't know someone well, they're acceptable, but buying a giftcard for a close friend seems to me like saying you weren't willing to put in the effort.

I don't think Christmas should be a way of getting what you want. I see no (hackneyed phrase!) 'Christmas spirit' in just asking for all the things you'd like to have and then getting them. That's not what it's about. I enjoy the things I get, but they should not be the be-all and end-all of Christmas. It's bigger than that.

...and also, if anyone wanted a wish list, you're on your own. If you're stuck, I like chocolate.


"When life breaks your yolks - make scrambled eggs instead!"

I have a job?

Verily, I have a job.

The kind that makes money and gives hours. That kind. It's sorta weird. And I'm basically thrilled.

The job description is as follows: Student Page at our neighborhood branch of the Public Library. 10 hours per week (20 during school holidays), $9.66 per hour. Student pages shelve books, shelf-read books, and clean up at closing time, as well as miscellaneous other tasks. I have applied four times in the last nine months, every time the job became available, and last Thursday was the first time they called for an interview. Interview was on Tuesday and went very well, and Wednesday afternoon they called to offer me the job.

Needless to say, I accepted :P

So I start Monday morning, with three hours of training. Wish me luck!

Shenanigans in satire

Thank you Josh.

Thank you Ezra Levant.

I could sit here and rant for a long, long time.

Be advised that it is very, very dangerous to get me started. Be advised that it is 9:11 am and I have already emailed Stephane Dion and Jack Layton at their government addresses to tell them that I am seventeen years old and I can see their blatant, power-hungry hypocrisy.

"Accept defeat gracefully," said Mr Layton to the Prime Minister.

Eat your words. Or even better, stick your arrogant head - and I won't finish that sentence.

Tell 'em yourself.

Duceppe.G@parl.gc.ca
Dion.S@parl.gc.ca
Layton.J@parl.gc.ca

Cheer for the letter-writers. Cheer, cheer, cheer.

I take back what I said about ceasing to read letters to the editor. I have never come across a more outstanding ensemble of common sense than the seven in the National Post today, regarding the recent ridiculous shenanigans in government. (To understand what I'm talking about, click here first and here next. If Lorne Gunter had fangirls...) Despite the ridiculous bias of our media, despite the drivel that passes for good sense, and despite the childish wailing of the Liberals, NDP and Bloc Quebecois, at least SOME Canadians are smart enough to see through this. Today's paper included these gems of wisdom:

"Why in these tough economic times, are [the Liberals, NDP, and Bloc] not willing to lead by cutting the drain on Canadian taxpayers? The Conservatives are willing to cut spending in an area that will directly affect them. If I want to support a political party, I would rather have the right to choose which one and how much of my hard earned money I give." (Tom Stang, Edmonton)

"The Conservatives have no apologies to make for their proposal to eliminate public funding of political parties. The issue is simple: If Canadians want to support a political party, let them do so with their own money. It is immoral to compel Canadians to fund political parties that they would not support voluntarily. It is equally immoral for political parties that can't manage their own finances to expect to manage the finances of the nation." (Liam Rafferty, Toronto)

And from me:

The motivations behind this coalition of the opposition parties and their screams of protest at the move to cut their funding are simple: Selfishness and laziness.

They failed to obtain power in the election. The Liberals, the Official Opposition, had the worst show of support in over a century. They've been smacked down and left to whine about how Harper isn't doing what's best for the economy - and the moment he introduces a bill to cut taxes (e.g. support the economy) they are more concerned with the fact that it is their funding he is taking away than they are for the welfare of Canadians. If they want the funding, they need to get out there and RAISE it. The Opposition parties lack power and lack funds, and they are selfish and lazy enough to make a grab for the one, and to expect Canadian taxpayers to make up for the other. This is in no way a failure on the part of the Prime Minister.

Hoo boy, I think this is turning into one of those issues on which it is dangerous to get me started.

I am a rebel.

Today, I resolve not to feel stressed, overwhelmed, bogged down, or generally blah. I resolve to waste time as I see fit, read my book, accomplish whatever absolutely has to be done, and leave the rest, because today I am a rebel.

That felt kinda good.

(Of course, this does not apply to piano, quizzing, or English; but hey, that's the fun stuff.)

NaNoWriMo count: 29000 words. Today's goal is 30000.

To-Do List:
Read my book
Listen to my new soundtrack (the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
Read Limyaael's Fantasy Rants
Drink coffee
Write novel
Wash the dishes while singing Deck the Halls

Seven Random Things

I have been tagged by Kyleian.

(As a side note, my NaNoWriMo took precedence so you likely won't be hearing much more about the convention.)

Seven Random Things About Melda
1. I am unaffected by caffeine. I like coffee and chocolate, but no matter how much I drink/eat, my level of hyperness thereafter is completely psychological. I can also be extremely hyper and not have had coffee for ages.
2. I have a slurpee in the freezer and later today I will dig it out and eat it with a spoon.
3. I really want nice boots to go with my coat, but it seems as though the perfect ones are only to be found on other people, and not in stores.
4. At home, I sleep with a squishy heart-shaped red pillow. When away, I find a pillow and sleep with it like a teddy bear, because otherwise I feel slightly bereft.
5. I am addicted to crossword puzzles.
6. I hate airport security with all my heart, and if one of those guys ever tries to search me with his metal-detector thingy, I will be seriously miffed.
7. I really appreciate it when cashiers are chatty, cheerful people. If I am ever a cashier, that is my goal.

There. Now I tag...

Joy
Robyn
Valera (now you have to post, mwaha)
Lenya
Meg
Ellie (you have issues finishing things you start. Or even perpetuating them. POST, DARN YOU)
I can't think of a seventh one but I know the Fudge Muffin periodically hangs around here, so she is now obligated to tell me seven random things about herself next time I see her on MSN. Or she could put them in a comment, I suppose. Whichever.

NaNoWriMo count: 25,500. Right on track.

Conservative Convention, Day 1

I am in Winnipeg. At the Conservative Convention '08, as a Youth Delegate. My name tag says it and everything. Dad says his should say, "Old Delegate."

Day #1

4:10 am - out of bed. This is an insane hour for ANYONE to be out of bed, cheap flight or no. I had to do some considerable coaxing to make it up, and then run around crazily trying to pack all my last-minute things. I still forgot my camera charger, but hey, it's only three days.

4:30 - meet with our convention buddies, drive to the Park 'n' Ride, and get on a shuttle to the airport.

6:00 - board plane, after several failed attempts at coffee and a hasty perusal of a newspaper. Wedge self in the middle seat, contemplate the insanity of rising at 4:10 am.

6:30 - take off. I did write 1100 NaNoWriMo words at this point, which was good.

9:10 [now on Winnipeg time]- land. Take limo (!!!) to hotel/convention center - they're connected - meet Mike, and discover some of our rooms aren't ready. Therefore, congregate in the one that is.

10:10 - start discussing some of the touchier things in the constitution packet. At this point I was finding it hard to focus because all I'd eaten was a package of cookies on the plane and a Christmas orange.

11:30ish - wander down to the lobby, coincidentally happen to see the Prime Minister arrive at the hotel. That was kinda cool. Because I was dying of hunger, we went to Subway, and *gasp* someone actually knew how to use two Subway giftcards at the same time! (This is quite a problem. Nobody seems to know and it makes giftcards just slightly useless.)

12:30 - make it over to the convention center to register. Here we got our lanyards, a package with a bunch of documents and some ballots, and various other miscellany.

After 12:30 - hang around on floor 12 of the hotel, designated hang-out area with coffee of varying kinds and comfy chairs. Finish Merlin, second book of the Pendragon cycle.

2:00 - discuss more policy and constitution.

4:00 - spend a long time looking for the Radisson Hotel to attend a Cabinet Minister's presentation on multiculturalism. I think I would have enjoyed this more if I hadn't had to try so hard to stay awake. Dad and I left during the comments portion of the presentation, because the comments were desperately long and boring. People do not know how to be concise.

5:20 - find another Subway, try to use giftcards and fail, unhappy Dad and I. Get sandwich anyway.

5:30 - wolf sandwich down in hotel room.

6:10 - head down to get seats for the Prime Minister's keynote address. Or in my case, a very random seat after being accosted by a volunteer going, "Oh we need youth delegates to come sit over here so it looks like there are young people!" Cue me in between a guy who refused to give me the aisle seat like the volunteer wanted me to have, and a lady who was busy talking to someone else. I twiddled my thumbs until shortly after 7.

Shortly after 7 - an amazing routine by a couple of gymnasts, the Underground Circus, involving two ropes of colored cloth hanging from the ceiling and some absolutely amazing acrobatics. Then some singing by a girls' group, including the national anthem. Some people whose names I don't really recall spoke, and then Laureen Harper (that was kinda cute. I like her.) and then FINALLY the Prime Minister. He mentioned Mike's campaign manager in his speech! And how she made pies to raise money to send us to convention! Or *cough* how she's planning to. Anyway, it was really an excellent speech. I kept hoping he was going to exit via the bleachers, where I was, but he didn't, which begs the question - why the heck was I even there?

Shortly after 8 - hunt up Dad, hang around a bit getting progressively more tired and not liking the loud music and the bright lights. Finally decided to come back to the hotel room.

9:58 [now] - by myself, on my laptop, much happier.

High point of day 1: getting to read Merlin for the first uninterrupted stretch of time in a while. Also, of course, the Prime Minister's speech.

Low point: being hungry and tired.

So far, not gonna lie, it's not the most riveting thing in the world. But hey! That's why I have a book and my laptop.

I need to stop reading letters to the editor.

Lately, they only serve to make me mad and fuel my blog rants.

Like today, for instance.

Tell me how this is somehow offensive and unsupportable: that soldiers, all of whom VOLUNTEERED, have fought in all the wars of this century to preserve the freedom and prosperity of their homeland. Tell me how it is bad, for one flipping day of the entire year, to remember the people who died so YOU have a home and a family and a free country. You'd think this would be impossible to refute, wouldn't you?

But still there are people who sit at home in their warm houses and whine about how we shouldn't be 'glorifying the acts of war'. Okay, I know war isn't fun, I know it's deadly, I would be horrified should there be, say, a WW3, but the important part is that people, when the time came, did it anyway! And they did it not because they found shooting fellow humans fun, they did it because it was the RIGHT THING TO DO! And because they did, we have what we do and we enjoy the privileges we do!

Next time a threat comes around, you people who write these idiotic letters, you can just lie down like a doormat and let the invading forces walk all over you. Tell me how that goes. Maybe you'll be slightly more supportive of war afterwards.

Rant over. Please be advised that I oppose pacifism with every bone in my body.

Lest we forget

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

- John McCrae

Tomorrow, Remembrance Day, we honor all the Canadian soldiers who have ever died to preserve our freedom, our prosperity, and our lives.

War is not ideal. Peace, on the other hand, is. Sometimes, you need to fight a war to gain peace. And that's why I am not a pacifist. War is tragic and devastating - but sometimes war is necessary. For freedom, prosperity, and life. To want peace is not to lie down and let the world trample on you, because that way you're avoiding conflict. To want peace is to be willing to fight for it, because there are people who want to take it away.

Tomorrow, say a prayer of thanks for the men and women who died to make our country what it is today - free - and for the men and women who are even now fighting to give that same freedom to others.

I will be.

On a blogging spiel - and a song!

Look! Feet of Shadows has a song:

Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser

Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet
Toward home, a land that I've never seen
I am changing
Less and less asleep
Made of different stuff than when I began
And I have sensed it all along
Fast approaching is the day

When the world has fallen out from under me
I'll be found in you, still standing
When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you

There's distraction buzzing in my head
Saying in the shadows it's easier to stay
But I've heard rumours of true reality
Whispers of a well-lit way

When the world has fallen out from under me
I'll be found in you, still standing
When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you

You make all things new

When the world has fallen out from under me
I'll be found in you, still standing
When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you

When the world has fallen out from under me
I'll be found in you, still standing
Every fear and accusation under my feet
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you.

The same artist also has a song called C.S. Lewis Song and from the tidbit I can hear on iTunes, she uses this quote: "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." I've always really liked that one. Actually, C.S. Lewis in general is a veritable bottomless pit of amazing quotes. There's a really good list here.

And now I depart to make good on my assertion that Thursday is my most productive day of the week.

NaNoWriMo count: 8334 words

The US Presidential Election

I'm not American. I won't pretend that I know everything about American politics, or that I know enough to have made an informed voting decision.

But I have to say, after reading the paper today, I am so, so sick of newspaper articles prating on about the 'stain of racism' being erased from America's track record. So what is the logic behind that? America enslaved African-Americans, and now the only way it can successfully apologize is to elect a black president? What a glowing endorsement for Obama - here, America feels guilty. Lead our country, and by default most of the free world, and we'll all support you because it's racist not to.

Actually, it's racist both to support Obama because he's black or condemn him because he's black. His race should have absolutely no swaying power. However, you don't see the white people out waving signs, do you now? Somehow, it's okay to have black pride or Native pride or Asian pride or what have you, but the moment I am proud to be white, our left-wing, 'tolerant', walk-on-eggshells world cries "Racist!"

That is the extent of my rant for today.

Thoughts about this election in a nutshell: He's got the single hardest job there is. I didn't support him, but I wish him well.


"Josh Stauffer is wondering why everyone thinks either the world is ending or it's saved. He's just a president. My grandma's seen 14 of them."

The Latest News

Brought to you by Melda being too distracted to come up with something thoughtful and philosophical, and therefore deciding that it is time for an update on Real Life.

Recent Events:

#1: My first party planning attempt. Last Sunday, November 24th, I was very devious and cunning and hosted a surprise party for one of my friends. It involved a clandestine phone call to her mother, employment of my fantastic acting skills, several days of waiting, some streamers and balloons, and finally an army of youth girls hiding in my family room and an obscene amount of food including birthday cake. We had a fire, too. In the fireplace.
The lovely birthday girl.

#2: The most awesome youth event in the history of youth events, AKA Return to Dark Hold Keep. This, if nothing else, is evidence that I pretty much have the greatest youth pastor in the entire flippin' universe. We spent two and a half hours decoding runes, finding mini treasure chests, speaking in 'yarr' and 'ahoy', strutting around like Jack Sparrow himself, and (in my case) captaining the winning team of the entire event and coming home with Jack Rackham's rum bottle and a paper bag full of candy. We also saw The Biggest Cannon In Alberta, a whopping six inches long, and had a hole burnt in the back of one of our clues. It was supposed to be a code written in lemon juice. We are pirates.

#3: NaNoWriMo. [National Novel Writing Month] I've never done this before but I decided it was time to jump in - I'm writing a novel in 30 days. 50000 words, to be more precise. It works out to a minimum of 1667 words per day. My novel is coming along steadily, albeit that I am very aware of the rampant way I have quantity over quality. Perhaps, in Editing Month (aka December) I'll see fit to post an excerpt or two.

#4: Halloween! In our household we had a random pirate with a red plush hat (yours truly), a random girl dressed in random sparkly stuff, Link, and his counterpart Zelda. There is now an obscene amount of candy floating around.

Upcoming events include: November 13-15, the Conservative Convention in Winnipeg. I am going as a Youth Delegate for the riding of Edmonton-Mill Woods-Beaumont. Also, the first district quiz meet, November 21-22. Both will come, I am sure, with pictures, and quite possibly blog posts as well. If I have nothing profound to post before then, look for reports.

By popular demand (sort of) I now depart to pay a cookie I owe, write a post in Phantom Grey, and add 2500 words to my novel count of 3250.

Perfection is overrated

Okay, I know, I'm waxing philosophical. I think it must be a phase, and presently I shall return to comments on matters such as the flotilla of mini pirate ships on my dresser or the many reasons I dislike math. However, this is the helping of my thoughts that I release today into cyberspace.

Yesterday afternoon (Sunday) I played a large game of Lord of the Rings Monopoly with all but one of my family members. (The missing one has what one or two of his friends refer to as a 'jewfro', and memorizes phone numbers by remembering which hockey players' numbers they correspond to.) Afterward, I relented to pleading from my two smallest siblings and played an hour or two of Twilight Princess. I accomplished quite a lot, and I am halfway through the Temple of Time. About this point, shortly after dinner, I remembered that on Sunday afternoons, I normally get started on this week's quizzing material. "Okay, whatever," I thought. "The sections haven't been as long lately, so I probably don't have much to do. I'll just slip it in before we start on our normal rounds of Sunday night TV."

Five minutes later, I was staring gloomily at Luke 10 - a whopping FORTY-TWO verses that I hope to have memorized by Wednesday.

Here we pause. I didn't regret the three or so hours of Monopoly, nor the Twilight Princess. I skipped the first TV show, Heartland, and paced my bedroom repeating verses to myself, and then wandered upstairs to watch America's Funniest Home Videos and The Amazing Race. I could have watched House with my mom afterward, but by that time I was rather sleepy and had a couple more verses to memorize, so I didn't. (But really, as she pointed out, missing House is far preferable to missing, say, NCIS or Bones or The Office.)

I do have a point here. And the point is - I could have spent all afternoon catching up in music history, brushing up on my piano technique, getting a head start in quizzing, or sundry other 'productive' pursuits. Instead I played Monopoly and Zelda. I don't feel guilty, because yesterday I think I realized something more important.

I'll never be seventeen again. Heck, as of next August, I get to be an adult for the rest of my life. Do I really want to spend this year immersed in academic pursuits, and miss out on the more important things? Because yes, some things ARE more important. Like playing Lord of the Rings Monopoly and witnessing my mom refer to Valinor as Edoras. Like wildly waving a Wii controller while Grace and Will shout, "Kill him! YEAH!"

Okay, maybe I don't get 100% on every Chemistry test. Maybe I take mini-breaks between school subjects to read fan fiction about Elves and the CIA. Maybe I'll never go to Harvard, maybe I'll never be famous, maybe I'll never land a job that pays a million a year. Maybe, heaven forbid, I'll have kids instead of a bigger house or a newer car or an expensive vacation. But you know what? That's okay.

Because I'm happy. Exactly like this. There is a time to be 'productive', and there is a time to kill hairy spider-things with your Master Sword.

From John Diefenbaker

"I am a Canadian,
free to speak without fear,
free to worship in my own way,
free to stand for what I think right,
free to oppose what I believe wrong,
or free to choose those
who shall govern my country.
This heritage of freedom
I pledge to uphold
for myself and all mankind."

From the Canadian Bill of Rights,
July 1, 1960.

Happy Election Day.

The Beauty of Democracy

"I don't vote in this province."

"I think it's stupid to have another election. I'm not voting."

"Sorry, we don't really believe in voting."

I am more philosophical about this topic than my dad, who has to suppress a need to say "Oh yeah? Well move to China then, see how well they take to 'yeah, I don't believe in communism'." We love him anyway.

But back to the point.

This evening I was recalling, as I sat with a blanket and a cup of chocolate-cake-in-a-mug (if you would like this amazing recipe, do tell me) the topic of the youth Sunday School class I was able to attend last week, as there was no quizzing that day. We discussed, with a lively peppering of varying opinions, the blessing of democracy and our responsibilities that follow. This, combined with three hours of dropping campaign literature in mailboxes I did today, made me contemplative about the democratic system. Should we be as cynical about politicians as many are? Do our votes count? (Well, not my vote, per se.) Is voting the responsibility that comes with the gift of democracy? Is it wrong not to vote?

Personally, I have varying answers to any and all of these. However, the gist of the matter is this: Despite its shortcomings, the democratic system gives citizens under its jurisdiction the option to have a say (however small) in how their country is governed. Assuming politicians are, in fact, the conniving lying [insert expletive here]s many seem to think they are, which is better - having a say in which lying conniving so-and-so governs, or having no say?

Whatever your answer, obviously, if you had the opportunity to have a say and didn't take it, you have no right to complain when your taxes aren't what you'd like them to be or a law is passed with which you disagree or etc.

I'm really not here to tell people why they should or shouldn't vote. However, I can ponder all the telling questions I like, and I can definitely add my opinion to the churning mass of others' thoughts that are out there.

So here it is:

VOTE OCTOBER 14TH!

Feet of Shadows

My intent, in beginning this post, was to give a background to the pretty new header up there and explain why I'm brown instead of green now and where The Elvish Pirate went (answer: down into the Davy Jones' Locker of bad blog names), but I am somewhat hampered because, as it says in my handy new Welcome note at the side, my name comes from C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce. Now, I know we own this book somewhere, but after a cursory perusal of our bookshelf, I can't find it. So bear with me as I go from memory.

The basic premise of The Great Divorce is that a busload of people who are essentially tourists have come up from Hell to visit Heaven. Hell, in this portrayal, is a grey, depressing city, and heaven is brilliant and full of light - and most importantly, painfully solid to these people from Hell, who appear as ghosts. They can hardly walk on the ground without hurting themselves, because the grass does not give way under their feet.

And this, an inkling of which has probably occurred to you by now, is where the quote comes from. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. Heaven is reality, and the people from Hell have feet of shadows. I think that this is considerably applicable to life as we know it. So much of the time, we focus on meaningless things and ignore, well, the reality, and if we're not prepared for it now, reality will certainly be harsh to the feet of shadows when we reach it.

Basically - God is reality. We have feet of shadows. I could extend the metaphor further, but I think the point is made.

Never fear, I shall not wax theological in every single one of my posts to follow. I'm aware that some variety never goes amiss. But I've realized, in these last few weeks, that my life should ultimately point to God no matter if it's blog-life or real-life. That's not to say it does, not by a long shot - none of us are perfect and I am no exception. But the title merited a change.

Emily Stauffer

This is not an eloquent blog post. This is not a post about politics, about trivial details of everyday life, about school or the future.

This is a post that I am writing honestly and from my heart, and it won't be long or wordy.

Emily Stauffer was killed by an unknown attacker on Saturday, September 27th, at about 4:45 in the afternoon, as she was walking in her hometown of Edson, Alberta.

I knew Emily. I didn't know her intimately, and I won't pretend to be one of her best friends. She was a bright, unique, enthusiastic fourteen-year-old, who loved God and who is now with Him in heaven, where she is happier than any of us can be on earth. Since Saturday, I and my family and our church have cried a lot. They aren't tears for Emily. They're tears because we'll miss her, and tears for her family, and tears for her church. Someday, we'll see her again.

Please pray. Pray for the Stauffer family, for the church that they pastor, and for the community that they live in. Pray that through this, God will be glorified.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." - Romans 8:28 (NIV)

I feel like Garfield

AND it's raining.

Is this some sort of reflection on it being Hobbit Day today? I certainly hope not. Bilbo and Frodo do not deserve rain and Monday-ness on their birthday.


"Well, it's not really foreshadowing. It's like obvious foreshadowing."
"So what do you call that?"
"...prophecy?"

Productivity is overrated

I was sitting here staring aimlessly at my laptop screen anyway so I figured I might as well conjure up a post. Fridays invoke this strange lethargy in me and I have no urge to make progress on absolutely anything except the list of Top 25 Most Played in my iTunes library. Oh, I will, I know I will, because piano must be given its requisite hour and a half, and I cannot quote Luke 2:1-40 word-perfect yet, and I haven't studied music history in two days. However, I am almost finished my diagnostic essay, which is the first one due in my English course, and the course itself doesn't even start until October 1st, so I figure I'm decently ahead enough that I can take one day off.

[/justifying laziness]

This week was:

Music: Rebirthing by Skillet; Paper Rain (Remix) by Amanda Stott; For The Beauty of the Earth by BarlowGirl. I am discovering that I can tolerate almost every genre of music in existence, possibly excluding screamo.

Books: The Great Hunt by Robert Jordan, since the beginning of August. I'm reaching the end. There are 10 more of like length after it, which makes me happy, because fantasy does not get much better than Wheel of Time. Evidence That Demands A Verdict by Josh McDowell, just finished the chapter titled: "Significance of Deity: Lord, Liar or Lunatic?" and Boy Meets Girl by Joshua Harris.

Clothing: I know nobody is really very interested, but I love my brown hoody. I love it. And my skinny-ish-but-not-really jeans from Reitmans that will start to get holes if I wear them any more.

Other: My favorite blue pen, a Dead Man's Chest popcorn bucket, chemistry equations, two flotillas of mini card ships, chocolate chip cookies, the slightly insane Hector Berlioz, Mike Lake lawn signs, Luke 2:39, la voiture rouge, too-short headphones, inept party leaders, thesis statements, and Phantom Grey.

Monday I am attending a workshop thingy for student-teaching piano, and will hopefully have acquired some students...sometime. I am teaching piano. 'Tis a strange world.

Here's hoping that next week isn't as jam-packed as this one. Because hope springs eternal.

:)

Melda

"My bus comes at 7:30. So I get out of bed at 7:29 and hope it comes at 7:34."

A Conglomeration

...is what today is. Yes, 'tis Thursday, and I am blogging.

First bit of the conglomeration: The election is coming right along. I've been out knocking on doors twice this week and am planning to do so again tonight. However, my observations of the news on said election have not been all positive. I find it pretty much unequivocally stupid that Elizabeth May has landed herself a spot in the leaders' debate. This is not about anti-feminism, or the rights of the environment - if the Green Party had SEATS, I would say let her in the debate, and happily. But guess what? They have no such thing. Oh, unless you count the pseudo-seat of Blair Wilson, a Vancouver MP elected as a Liberal in 2006, who was booted from his party and therefore approached the Greens to become one of theirs. That is no elected Member of Parliament.

Second bit of the conglomeration: I think this is what it feels like to be busy with school. I don't know how I like it. I really hope it doesn't get unmanageable once I've started into my English course in earnest, and begun piano again. Part of the busy-ness is because of the election, too, but if this is how busy I am with that, how will I ever manage a job?

Third and last bit of the conglomeration (I just like that word): I'm almost finished reading I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Joshua Harris, and I'm a bit surprised by how I do agree with most of his points. All the uncertainties about dating and courtship and what-have-you that I've bandied about this year actually have some very decent answers in there. I really wonder how different society would be if we approached dating with serious thought to marriage, not just a selfish desire for romantic satisfaction. But that's another discussion for another time, and I'm aware that opinion is a bit radical, so that'll be it for now.

Oh, and one more thing - if any of you have been reading Okay, NOW Panic (by boz4pm) on fanfiction.net, the latest chapter was a huge YES FINALLY TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH! I was grinning maniacally by the end. (They're worse than M/K.)


"Politics is not a bad profession. If you succeed there are many rewards, if you disgrace yourself you can always write a book." - Ronald Reagan

[snicker at Obama and his two memoirs]

ELECTION!

I have made a resolution with myself to blog every Monday and Thursday if not more often. (Hold me to it.) So I was sitting here pondering what one might blog about, and as evidenced by the title, inspiration hath struck.

Yep, it's election time.

The Facts: This campaign will culminate with Election Day on October 14th, 2008. That means that there are exactly thirty-six days in which to door-knock, put up signs, stay up really late sticking labels on things, and generally go insane. The polls vary depending on source, but some have the Conservative Party of Canada as high as 43% of the popular vote and the Liberals trailing at 24% or 25%. (However, as I read in the National Post today, the only poll that matters is the one on Election Day.)

And my personal opinion? I think we're headed for a Conservative majority government under Prime Minister Stephen Harper. Many projections (some I read in the paper today, even) predict another Conservative minority or even a Liberal minority. Conservative minority? Perhaps. After all, they've accomplished enough with this one that a minority is no cause for complaint. Liberal minority? Hah. They weren't even prepared enough to have their campaign plane painted red, even after TWO AND A HALF YEARS during which an election could have been called at any time.

If my voice holds out (which it may or may not, even with the mugs of tea I'm consuming to drown this stupid cold) I'm going door-knocking tonight. With my Member of Parliament.

I don't care what the skeptics say about democracy. I have a say in who leads my country and I'm sure not letting the opportunity slip by, even if I can't yet vote.

Yay HARPER.

First Week of School: An Update

Now you all get to learn about my fascinating school habits!!! Prepare to be amazed. They involve spending long periods of time sprawled on my bed with a book and my third-rate laptop speakers set to play Party Shuffle in my iTunes.

Yep. I have a pretty exciting life.

Anyway, I actually think this year is going to be a fun one. I'm taking:
Mathematics for Everyday Life, grades 11 and 12 (and it PWNS Algebra)
Exploring Creation With Chemistry, by Dr. J. Wile (good so far)
Reading Evidence that Demands a Verdict by Josh McDowell, which is absolutely brilliant, as well as I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Joshua Harris, which is actually better than I thought it would be. This year involved a lot of discussion about guys and dating so I decided I should really read the book already.
Will be taking English 155 from University of Athabasca
Rosetta Stone French
Social Studies is made up of various things, including a trip to Winnipeg in November to a convention for the Conservative Party of Canada, volunteering for an election (which is coming! Be excited!), reading various books (7 Men Who Rule the World from the Grave, 100 Most Important Events in Christian History) and, of course, the newspaper. Social is fun.
RCM Grade 9 piano, with practical exam in January
RCM Music History 3, with written exam in December
As well as memorizing 792 verses of the Gospel of Luke. Power quizzer.

It looks busy, but it isn't. Yet. However, it probably will be, especially if you add in either student teaching piano, or a job. But that's okay.

I do actually still plan to blog about Noyan from the Quebec trip. Stay tuned.


"That sign says 'Thank you for visiting Rocky Mountain House.'"
"How did they know we were visiting?!"
"Ooo, spooky."

Quick book review (sorta): America Alone, Mark Steyn

Okay, I'm not exactly done it yet, I've just started, but I ran into an issue (and some of my friends will recognize this) that I often talk about.

To paraphrase the beginning of his first chapter - to have a stable population, one that neither grows nor shrinks, a country's birth rate needs to be 2.1. For a growing population, it needs to be 2.6.

Current worldwide birth rates? Well, when Mr Steyn wrote the book, which was in 2006, the United States of America had a birth rate of about 2.1, give or take. Okay, that's not catastrophic. Canada had 1.48. Europe - 1.38. Japan - 1.32. Russia - 1.14. Spain, as an extreme example, has a population that is being cut in half EVERY THIRTY-FIVE YEARS.

So, a big army is useful until about fifty years later when all your soldiers have died and they failed to have enough kids to take their places. And the offensive forces (read: Middle-Eastern...and I bite my tongue...) are coming out with families of eight and ten children each. Admittedly I don't know this for sure, but I don't think it's far off the mark.

To quote from the book -

"But sure, go ahead and worry about 'climate change'."

No more to be said there, really.

Okay - QUEBEC

So I figured I'd beat last year and post my reflections before the three-month mark has passed since I was actually on the trip.

That is, if anyone happens to read this anymore - I wouldn't really blame you if you didn't, because regularity on this particular blog long ago bought itself an apartment in those cool buildings in Montreal and lives a happy life in the metropolis, far away from me.

Anyway - this is a general outline of the trip, with details (and bits of journal entries) to follow.

Our team was: Me, Sarah, Francesca, Missy, Tyler, Everett, Theresa, Joanna, and Mr and Mrs Folkman.

Day 1, August 6 - Leave home, fly to Quebec City, get set up at Notre Dame de Foy college for accommodations arranged by Quebec Espoir (Hope for Quebec).
Days 2, 3, and 4 - distribute the Gospel of John on the street in various parts of Old Quebec City, and when we're not doing that, hang around at another college, Francois-Xavier-Garneau.
Day 5 - go to church in the morning, goof around in the afternoon, go to a play/concert in the evening, as a wrap-up for Quebec Espoir.
Day 6 - go sightseeing in Old Quebec City.
Day 7 - drive to Montreal and visit with Richard and Merinda Enns. Stay the night at their condo.
Day 8 (my birthday!) - drive from Montreal to Noyan, meet Monika and Serge Breault and the people at Noyan Alliance Church.
Days 9 and 10 - put siding on the church building.
Day 11 - spend the morning putting on siding, the afternoon practicing to lead worship team stuff the next morning (Sunday) and the evening having a movie night in the new sanctuary.
Day 12 - church (the very first time in the new building!) and visiting in the afternoon, as well as some waterskiing. In the evening, I got to wander around the hot air balloon fair and eat weird fries.
Day 13 - say long goodbyes, and come home.

Of course, there was as lot of other stuff involved, but that is the basic outline of the trip. The way I almost felt it worked was that we spent six days in Quebec City and six days in Noyan, and four days of each were getting over my homesickness, one day was enjoying it, and one day was leaving. My mom thinks that this indicates I don't respond to change with especial flexibility, and that's okay.

The experience distributing the Gospel of John was...definitely a stretch. I dreaded it the first day, because I had no idea what was coming and I didn't speak any French and I missed home, and I don't think I ever got to the point where I enjoyed it. But I kinda had to remember that it wasn't about me. In the bigger picture, it doesn't matter whether I was scared or not. Jesus DIED for me, the least I can do is hand out some booklets and smile at people, and my comfort zone need have nothing to do with it.

Anyway, the sightseeing we did was definitely amazing. I love all the history in Quebec. I could probably have spent SO much money, in that one day. It was a little ridiculous.

The one day we had in Montreal was a big eye-opener. We learned about the Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, why the people of Quebec have such a deep hatred toward the church, and how hard it is to reach them. 0.6% of the Quebec population is considered to be Evangelical Christian. Everyone's been taught that the church is bad. Two thirds of the people in Montreal are on depression medication. The highest cause of death is suicide. Most households contain one person. It's very difficult to make friends, because trust has been betrayed and therefore rarely given.

We learned all this in one evening, and visited St Joseph's Oratory in Montreal the next morning. This was sobering. To many people, the terms 'Catholic' and 'Christian' mean the same thing, but walking into that place felt like entering a funeral. I couldn't believe that we were even talking about the same God. There's no joy, no hope, everyone speaks in whispers and lives in fear that if they put a toe out of line they'll be excommunicated and lose what hope they have of salvation. It's very sad.

After this, we headed off to Noyan for our next six days. I loved Noyan. It took a day to settle in, because I was terribly homesick at first, but they are an incredible group of people. We helped to put siding on their church, which was so much fun, and got to hang out and find that no matter whether you're in Alberta or Quebec, you believe the same thing. I was looking forward to being home, but at the same time it was very hard to leave.

That said, here are some snippets from my journal. I'm aware that I sound slightly emo at times. Bear with me. I did skip stuff, of course. Some of my private thoughts are not entirely blog-able.

First evening, August 6th
...There seem to be a bunch of people already here, and we're coming in a bit late in the whole process. Toe-Blake, the guy in charge, showed us our rooms. He's nice, gives off a reassuringly confident vibe, and the rooms are nice too. Francesca and I are sharing. They're a bit bare, and the bathroom is tiny, but they're certainly livable. I wish I could hunt up another pillow for the bed, but oh well.
...Overall, I'm feeling really insecure and a bit alone. I wish Erin or Jessica or Annette or Bryan had come. I also have no idea what we're doing tomorrow, which make me anxious. I hope they don't split us up, and I HOPE we don't have to knock on doors....I need to get through tomorrow. Then I'll know what to expect. That's the scary part, not knowing. I'm scared of being alone and feeling like a dead weight.

Yeah. The first little while was hard.

Second morning, August 7th
...So we got to Garneau, and got our food tickets, because without those we don't get meals. I felt...depressed. This morning I was anxious not knowing what we were doing today.
Meals are a little odd. The cafeteria people speak French, so I kinda just nod and smile, but the food is okay. I didn't eat a lot.
After this came the Service of Impossible Length. It lasted over three hours and was agonizing because it all needed to be interpreted. I thought it would never end - the whole time, I was trying desperately not to fall asleep. My eyes hurt all of today. Tyler was having trouble too.
The S of IL ended, and there was some chaos dividing into groups. I was very unclear on what we were doing, knocking on doors or putting stuff in mailboxes or what. Anyway, it turned out that every group needed at least one Anglophone, so we split up. I ended with Sarah and Theresa.
[Later]
Anyway, we made it, and got out our bags and paired off....I was so nervous about handing these things out. Some people are so good at engaging passers-by, and I felt pathetic being all "Hi! Um, want one of these? Uh...sorry...no French...bye!"
We sorta wandered through a very tourist-y part of Old Quebec, but very pretty, with old buildings and statues and stuff....Not gonna lie, I wasn't really enjoying it. It wasn't as bad as I feared, but not relaxing. But I feel bad for thinking like that. I mean, it's for God's glory, right? It's just so hard to think of it that way.
So I made it through without, like, dying, and we started heading back to where the cars were parked...

Long story short, we got totally lost and wandered around for about 45 minutes. That was a bit fun, actually.

Third evening, August 8th
Sooo, it's now almost 6 pm, after dinner, and today has so far been a very decent day.
After lunch, we came down to outside the cafeteria and teamed up to go out distributing. I almost think it's a bit hopeless to TRY to be with someone - better to just go with the flow. This is what everyone has been telling me, yes. I'm listening now. Anyway, we had a big-ish team, and drove out to Old Quebec City. Right by the St Lawrence river and the Chateau Frontenac!
Our smaller team was me, Tyler, and a French (Parisian) girl named Eleanor. She was a couple months younger than me, and we actually had a lot of fun. The one street we picked to hang around on was old, right by the Chateau, and WET. This time, I almost kinda had fun. It was raining, but I kept walking up and down and saying "Bonjour! Would you like one?" and it seemed to work because I got rid of my whole bag. Eleanor got into a long conversation with a sort of pagan/agnostic guy, and poor Tyler found that people didn't like him.
Near the end, I was standing talking to Tyler and a guy in costume walked into the street. There are a few of these wandering around so I didn't pay too much attention, but he kinda sauntered by, and I was like "...Jack Sparrow!"

That was amazing. I loved seeing this random guy dressed as Jack, even if my shoes took three days to dry after that.

Fifth day, August 10
...I can't believe it's day 5 already! Two more, and we'll be halfway through. I AM starting to enjoy myself....

Sixth day, August 11
Today was FUN.
Francesca and I both woke up about 7:30, an hour later than we had been, and showered. Theresa knocked on our door about 8:30, by which time we were almost completely ready. We went down to our little meeting place with the couches and sat and laughed at Everett, who was being funny cause he got unintentionally locked out of his room by Tyler cause Tyler had to go write his math diploma.
...We caught the city bus for 9:40 fine, after Francesca and I had to run back for our cameras...when we made it downtown, we stopped at a little cafe for brunch. I got a croissant with egg and cheese, which didn't quite fill me up, but I was fine for the rest of the day, since we didn't stop for lunch. There were computers but you needed a username and password, which I didn't have time for.
...headed off with Mrs Folkman and Sarah. I initially felt like I was always getting ahead of them. We stopped to note the YMCA, which was really old, and was the building the cafe was in...
The first store we went into, because it had a sale outside, was Le Chateau. I ended up liking a skirt, but I wasn't going to buy it because it was $20 and my spending money budget was pretty small, so Sarah and Mrs Folkman bought it for me for my birthday.
We wandered on, looking at some really cool jewelry and souvenir stores, and came to an amazing medieval one. They had incredible costumes and figurines and sowrds, and stuff all over. I bought a little wizard guy....anyway, dragged myself away from the cool hats and gorgeous dresses, and went on to the candy store. We bought moose droppings (ha) for Kyle, and bought maple candy for gifts. I was feeling a little anxious about my budget cause I didn't have a lot left, so I didn't buy much.
We were meeting at the Chateau for 1:30, so we met and explored it a bit, and headed off again to go up on the walltop.
THAT was cool. I have a ton of pictures. I want to remember, for when I write about that kind of thing. Fantasy is full of sieges and walled cities and whatnot.
Met up again, sat around, looked at pictures, etc, and then went for ice cream. Mrs Folkman bought us all cones.
We met up with Tyler and Mr Folkman, who had been to pick up our vans, and went for a little more shopping before dinner.
The restaurant was a tiny little old place, le Anciente Canadien or something. All the servers were dressed in period costumes, which was neat. The food was crazy expensive, but luckily it was just $20 for what we did. I got broccoli soup and a chicken thing with pastry and veggies. It was pretty good, not phenomenal. Dinner was fun. I chatted and read and did sudoku.
Then we got dessert. Maple syrup pie. And I really should have been expecting it, but the waitresses put a candle in my piece (I even saw them carrying it and didn't clue in) and sang Happy Birthday. Well, Bonne Fete.
I kinda thought that was all, but then Mrs Folkman handed me an envelope that said August 13th, and there were four packages and a card.
...so my family gave me a pair of earrings I'd wanted from Salt Spring, a pretty t-shirt, a pink keychain and a Bethany Dillon CD. And I got a notepad and a license plate keychain with my name on it and maple sugar snacks and Nibs, from various others, and it was amazing. I felt SO loved.
Apparently this had been planned to surprise me. I was definitely surprised. We went out and it was raining, and did a tad more shopping, and went up on the wall once more. Pretty pictures.
...Then we rode back, and listened to my CD, had our meeting, and now I'm about ready to crash.
Today was amazing.

QUOTES:

Tyler: I'm going to wear my Toronto Maple Leafs stuff in Montreal, and get killed.
Me: But then we have to lug your body home. Can we dump it in Lake Ontario as we fly over?

Tyler: You're mean because you never explain things.
Me: Yep.
Tyler: You never tell me things.
Me: Nope.
Tyler: Stop agreeing with me!
Me: ...okay?

Everett: You get in trouble because you think when you speak.

Sarah: I used to sing opera, but that was only when I cooked with hot utensils.

Amy: You should read the Message! It has vitamins!

Everett: You're pulling my tail! Quit pulling my tail!

Everett: Four lovely ladies.
Me: I'm totally not! Yay!

Everett: Exotic melancholy gives me spazzy tantrums.

[Don't remember]
"You're a guy."
"I'm a what?"

Michel [pastor from New Brunswick]: I don't even smoke!

Sarah: I thought I had a tan. Then I had a shower.

And that was Quebec City. More to follow from Noyan. Hopefully. You can never tell whether I'll actually finish blogging about something or not.

Keep The Lights On

Okay, I know I need to blog about vacation AND Quebec, but as that won't be happening right now, I do have a story that I wrote on the way out to Salt Spring, and I thought if I was going to post I might as well post this. So. Comments and constructive criticism are writer's bread and butter, please do give them :)

Orange lights reflected on a rink crosshatched with the marks of skate blades. Above, the sky had been black nearly since the time boys had started appearing with skates and sticks. Banks of shoveled snow, waist-high in places, bordered the ice. Patrick McAllister cleared it every morning.

The last gangly teenager finished tugging off his skates, shoved half-numb feet into boots, and the little shack on the edge of the rink was empty. The orange lights still reflected their electric glow on the surface of the ice, but Patrick turned those off last.

First, he emptied the dregs of hot chocolate from its metal keg. All of it sold every evening, at fifty cents a mug. It wasn’t much for profit, but profit wasn’t really the point. Afterward, he set it on the step to be taken home and rinsed out.

The tiny room adjacent to the even tinier one that he called his ‘office’ had a floor overlaid with rubber. It was meant to keep the blades from dulling, but the black veneer had never been replaced and Patrick could feel the wood beneath. Nevertheless, he mopped the melted snow and placed a forgotten hockey stick in the corner. Robby Vanderbilt, said black permanent marker on the shaft. Robby was always forgetting things. So were the others – Patrick had a stash of unclaimed sticks interspersed with a few pairs of skates and several mittens without partners.

A glance at his watch showed him it was high time to be home. Tomorrow morning he must be up in time to shovel any snowfall during the night, and still make his bus for the hardware store job that paid for things like electricity and water. Not quite university. “Water that bursts the pipes,” he muttered, remembering that the plumber never had come after temperatures dropped to minus forty and the line that fed his shower had split.

All that was left was to jam his faded red-and-white toque on, wind his scarf around his head against the cold that would still infiltrate his lungs, and walk home. Donning his hat, whose bright Canadian maple leaf had long ago dropped off to leave only a jaggedly cleaner shape against the wool, he flicked the switch that would plunge the rink into darkness and stepped into his boots.

He thought the first tentative knock at the door was his own thudding footsteps. Then came a second one, followed by a treble inquiry – “Can you turn the lights back on, mister?”

Patrick opened the door. Facing him on the one step was a short figure, shape of a hockey stick in one hand, and a telltale rubber disc in the other. “One sec,” he responded, backpedaling to flick the switch on once more. Rink lights flickered once more into life. What was anyone doing, skating this late?

Now, returning once more to the door with intention to tell whoever this late-night enthusiast was that he should be home in bed, he could see him more clearly. A hat, that might once have been green but was now a noncommittal dark shade, was pulled down over his ears. He looked about ten, perhaps eleven or a small twelve. His hockey stick was on the verge of becoming one large splinter. “Thanks,” he said, peering upward from under the shadow of the too-large hat. Freckles were sprinkled liberally over his nose.

Patrick had meant to tell him the rink was closed for the night and boys should be home, especially with school the next day, but instead he found himself saying, “No problem.” And then, even more surprising – “You wanna use a better stick?”

“You have sticks?” was the eager response.

A foray into the rubber-floored room had Patrick emerging with a respectable specimen. WAYNE GRETZKY, proclaimed the block letters along its length. Black tape swathed the blade, but it was respectable enough. “Here y’go,” he said, giving it into a mittened hand.

“Thanks!”

Another discreet glance at his watch informed Patrick just how late it was getting. “Hey – what’s your name?” he called after the retreating figure. The kid was slowly making his way out onto the ice with purposeful strokes. If he lacked technique, he made up for it in determination.

“Marcus O’Brien,” he called, voice carrying clearly in the crisp air. Probably below minus twenty-five by now, Patrick thought. But –

“Hey, you’re Irish! Me too,” he responded. It really was getting late. Tomorrow he needed to be awake enough to tell people which section the spare tires were in and identify the right type of nail for fastening drywall. The rink should have been closed an hour ago.

Thirty seconds later, Patrick had his skates on. The stash of sticks in the corner had lost one more.

The small figure was intently handling its puck near the opposite end of the rink. Patrick skimmed through the splotches of orange light until he was close enough to make a pass for the rubber disc. He grinned. “You want some company?”

Marcus considered him, the tilt of his head thoughtful. “Okay,” he said, and passed the puck.

They skated down the rink in companionable silence, Patrick returning all the passes he received. Reluctant responsibility took hold. “Won’t your parents be worried you’re out so late?”

“No.” Marcus continued down the ice, apparently tranquil.

A beat, and Patrick followed, curiousity not sated in the least. Another few passes, and he tried again. “Got school tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Recess.” That made them both laugh.

A flurry of snow swept across the ice, carried by a breath of icy wind. Patrick cast his small company a sidelong glance, but Marcus was unperturbed by the cold.

Two more trips along the length, and two sets of toes had begun to go numb. Patrick caught a sniff from beside him and ground effortlessly to a stop, shaving ice. “You want some hot chocolate?”

They stomped back into the shack, over the rubber floor, and Patrick left Marcus tugging off his skates and went to heat water.

Moments later, over a pair of mugs, he made another attempt at conversation. “I haven’t seen you around the rink before.”

Marcus nodded. “We moved.”

“Where from?”

A shrug. “We move a lot.” That small freckled face was intent on its hot drink, but Patrick thought he sensed something behind the noncommittal answer. He probed no further.

He glanced at his watch and winced. He’d be dead at work tomorrow. “Marcus, I should get home. You probably should too.”

For the first time, he saw dejection in the hunch of the boy’s shoulders. Marcus drained his hot chocolate, and pushed the mug across the table. “You can skate backwards really good,” he offered matter-of-factly. “If I came tomorrow, would you teach me?”

Caught off guard, Patrick blinked. “Sure, I could do that.”

“Okay.”

He turned off the orange lights with an air of finality, and walked beside Marcus to where similarly orange streetlights, their bases piled high with snow, lined the sidewalk. Both paused at the corner, Patrick crossing and Marcus turning. Unsure of the appropriate gesture, Patrick solemnly extended a mittened hand. “Good night.”

Marcus shook it. “Thanks for keeping the lights on.”

- - -


The next evening, Patrick didn’t turn off the rink lights. Instead, he sat in the shack and drank the dregs of his hot chocolate until nearly midnight. The stick that said WAYNE GRETZKY lounged in the corner unused.

He walked home feeling a curious sense of loss.

Marcus never came again.

- - -


The job at the hardware store paved the way to a job at a diner, then a job at a restaurant. The restaurant acquired a few regulars, among them a Kelly with green eyes. University doors were open now, but she hadn’t gone, so he decided he wouldn’t either. Their wedding was in the little chapel around the corner, and their honeymoon was a night in the fancy hotel in downtown Winnipeg. She wanted a little girl, and he wouldn’t have objected to a boy, but he fell in love the moment a hospital nurse deposited Erin – Irish heritage and all – in his arms. It was just after her first birthday that they acquired a TV.

Patrick sprawled on the couch, half paying attention to the staticky hockey game and half dissuading his small daughter from grabbing the cat’s tail. Kelly rattled dishes in the kitchen.

“And here we are with Marcus O’Brien of the Vancouver Canucks – Marcus, how have you found your first season in the NHL?”

Patrick sat bolt upright, hearing the cat give a yowl and disregarding it. The young man on the screen might have had freckles, but he couldn’t see through the static. He answered a few questions about being a rookie, was appropriately excited, and thanked the news anchor with a rakish grin. Erin was attempting to stand using the edge of the coffee table, and he steadied her with one hand while still gluing his eyes to the screen.

“Anybody out there you want to say hello to?” the anchor asked just as Marcus O’Brien was turning away. The rookie started to shake his head. Then he looked over his shoulder at the camera.

“Nah,” he replied. “Just one thing.”

“What’s that?” Patrick fumbled for the antenna in sudden panic as a wave of static garbled the audio.

He caught one more glimpse of Marcus O’Brien. The static cleared, and the young man could have been staring straight into Patrick’s eyes.

“Thanks for keeping the lights on.”

"Exotic melancholy gives me spazzy tantrums."

Unnaturally contemplative

So it's our first official day of vacation. We're packed, we're gone, we're at my grandparents' house to leave the dog here and then we're off to Salt Spring Island.

And I choose this particular moment to start feeling worried.

Worried why? Oh, because next year is grade 12 and I'm going to have a job (well, assuming I find one, which shouldn't be hard) and I want to go to Internationals so I'm going to have to study a lot, and I want to get some scholarships to make university easier to pay for, and I have my piano exam in January...and school on top of all this. And whenever this happens I start feeling really nervous about the future in general and that leads to being distracted, and I'm also leaving for Quebec in about two and a half weeks, and I'm not sure how to feel about that. It goes on.

This won't be long because I should be sleeping. But is this normal? To feel like saying to life, "Okay, one thing at a time, please!"? And could everyone please give me a communal smack for thinking about this stuff when I'm on vacation and I should be relaxing?

Driving through the mountains tomorrow. I shall make a dent in those fifty pages I'm supposed to be writing is what I shall do, and I shall lose myself and be Raignheidra Terhin instead of me, and worry about things like malevolent mages and assassinations and staying alive instead of life and school. And it shall be fun.

Bed in a minute. As of now I am in a mood for music lyrics. Snippets to follow:

I wish I could fly, I know I can save us somehow.
You thought you were safe and sound but you need a hero now.
You gotta believe even with broken wings,
I've come to your rescue and you can't rescue me.

Summer's the season
but you're cold and freezing,
if there's a reason it's a lie.
When did I lose you,
I need you to pull through,
the weight of the world never felt so alive. - The Rescue, American Hi-Fi (anyone wanna take a stab at the romantic pairing of which this reminds me?)

I’m letting go of the life I planned for me
And my dreams
Losing control of my destiny
Feels like I’m falling
and that’s what it’s like to believe
So I’m letting go - I'm Letting Go, Francesca Battistelli. This is how I need to be thinking right now.

And lastly, I'm sorry but this was playing all week and I can't get it out of my head...
This is real, this is me
I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, now
Gonna let the light, shine on me
Now I've found, who I am
There's no way to hold it in
No more hiding who I want to be
This is me - This Is Me, Camp Rock. Pathetic, I know. At least it's not Hannah Montana.

Okay. Good night.


"Auuugh this guy SUCKS! I want to KILL him!"
^You need the videogame context.

Camps for Champs

That's what I was doing all week. I think this was the sixteenth summer in a row that our church has run Camps for Champs. They're sports day camps for kids in the community, and for the last couple of years they've been run by a Camp Director (which is a summer job, generally for a college student or graduate) a couple of adult coaches, and whatever crazy youth happen to be up for helping out.

So I was a crazy youth. And the week was definitely crazy. I think the utter craziness of it can be summed up by saying that the camp, which was soccer this week, was 3/4 boys and 1/4 girls. The noise was amazing. It's truly astounding how much noise a group of 35 kids can make when they're not even trying.

My last five days looked like this:
8:05 am - Leave the house. This was because Grace had to be somewhere at 8:15 and though Ben and I didn't need to be at the church until 8:45, there was no point in driving Grace and driving back. Anyway, this was my first experience with having to consistently be up early and out of the house and organized with a lunch and etc. I don't think I'd like to do that for school all year. Thursday morning I woke up AT 8:15 to find that I needed to be in the car in fifteen minutes, in which time I needed to get dressed and pack a lunch and collect whatever paraphernalia I needed for camp. Not fun.
8:45 am - Meet with Hayley (the director) and pray with the other coaches/helpers before starting camp. Usually by this time a couple campers had already arrived.
9:00 am - Camp for the day officially starts. Mostly we played a game until everyone had arrived, such as the infamous titles The Animal Whacking Game (only without the animals) and I Have Never. That one was fun.
about 9:15 am - We head over to the fields, a five-minute walk, to start soccer for the day. We played in older and younger groups, from about ages 5 to 8, and then ages 9 to 11, and throughout the week we did different drills. Thursday morning we did play a game, coaches on campers, and I discovered that when it comes to sports, I am truly more of a liability than an asset. It's a victory if I kick the ball in the right direction. Oh well.
12:00 pm - Lunch. It was interesting, packing a lunch. Forgive me for ruminating on something you probably all do so much that it's second nature, but I don't actually think I eat like that at home. Little packets and plastic-wrapped sandwiches and stuff.
12:30 - Afternoon activity. That or Kidmo. We'll call it afternoon activity, but they switched back and forth. The first day, this was something I can't even recall, but the second and third days, two groups went swimming and two did a scavenger hunt and some paper mache. The fourth day...I must have left bits of my memory somewhere because I can't remember this either...and the fifth day we played mini olympics. Three-legged race, tug-of-war, water balloon toss, the lot.
2:00 - Kidmo. This was about half an hour of video, in which the campers learned a verse and had some teaching, as well as Quizmo, which was worth points. Points were tallied at the end of the week and the winning team got a prize. Theoretically. Actually I think everyone got the same prize at the end. Anyway, then we did little activity booklets and made WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) bracelets.
3:00 - End activity. This was sometimes a game, sometimes something like painting our paper mache, and the last day we made ice cream with ziploc bags and much ice, shaken for a long time. A LONG time.
3:30 - The kids go home and the coaches and helpers collapse and listen to Hayley talk for a minute before she takes pity on us and sends us home too.

So that was a fun week, if a really (REALLY REALLY REALLY) tiring one. Some cute moments include:

[One of the little boys, after the coaches won the soccer game] "Congratulations, you guys won. Good job. Cause it doesn't matter who won as long as we all had fun!" <--The complete sincerity of this one was a bit awwwww.

"How old do you think she is? Take a guess."
"Ummm...going into grade 10?"
[cue indignant noise from me]
"And how old am I?"
"I think you're in your first year of college."
[cue more indignation from Melda, as I don't understand how I look as though I'm just going into high school while Tyler is college-age]

[This was one of the little boys who completely ignored me until...]
"Coach! Coach! I saw you in the swimming pool with a pink swimsuit!" <--Okay, he was about nine, and I think he had a minor crush on me all week.

And next week I head off on vacation. W00t!

Melda

Tolerance

This has been on my mind a lot lately. Issues like tolerance and freedom of speech. For one, they've been coming up in the paper. An example I read recently is of a comedian who had two lesbians come into his act and start - his words paraphrased - basically making out with each other right there in the audience, and bashing him. So he bashed them right back, which seems a standard thing for comedians to do. I mean, if you let everyone stand up and yell at you, it's not your stage anymore, it's just a bunch of people yelling. I won't go into the language he used, but he told them some pretty rude things, just as they had told him some rude things.

The outcome? They're taking him to court. And he could be ordered not to make lesbian or gay jokes ever again in any comedy he does if they win.

How is this free speech? Pick a friend. Any friend. Then randomly be like "so, do you believe in free speech?" Well, DUH. If anyone knows an individual who honestly does not believe in free speech, I'd be very interested to know. But while yes, this is a right, that we are free to say and think whatever we want and express our opinions about any given person - guys, it's a two-way street. If you believe in free speech, people are also allowed to bash you just however they like, and you need to grin and bear it, not go running to a court because your feelings are hurt or you feel insulted. Guess what: That's part of life. Deal with it.

And this brings me to tolerance. From my dictionary application (I love that thing):

tolerance |ˈtäl(ə)rəns|
noun
1 the ability or willingness to tolerate something, in particular the existence of opinions or behavior that one does not necessarily agree with : the tolerance of corruption | an advocate of religious tolerance.

So, sounds good, right? Yeah, let's all love each other and get along and be one big happy family. But the world doesn't work like that. What the tolerance movement seems to be telling us is that we are not allowed freedom of speech. We are not allowed to think thoughts or speak words that have the potential to make someone else feel insulted. We're not allowed to have a moral problem with homosexuality - that's homophobia. We're not allowed to evangelize our religion, because that's 'shoving our beliefs on others'. What tolerance says is that we need to live in a box that people build for us.

And really? I'd love it if the world was made up of people who could graciously and tactfully express their problems - heck, if we hadn't messed up at the beginning of time, there would BE a perfect world. But there isn't. Use the example of communism. It works on paper. It works very well on paper. It should work in society. Does it? No. It doesn't. If we were all perfect, communism would work flawlessly. It's the same with tolerance - if we were all perfect, it would be fine. But no matter what, there will always be someone who is INtolerant. And that person is going to bash you however they like whenever they like.

Tolerance says you need to sit there and nod calmly and smile.

I'm sorry, it's just not going to happen.

Perhaps I'm reading too much into a specific situation, but many times, primarily on the internet, I have seen people preach about tolerance and sing its praises and how oh-the-world-would-be-a-better-place-if-everyone-were-only-tolerant. These same people are generally preaching about this in a specific context - either berating someone who seems intolerant or wailing about the intolerance of the world in general. Logically, if you were really tolerant, you would tolerate my intolerance, yes?

None of us will. None of us will sit there and smile at someone who is bashing us - and this is why we have freedom of speech. Take your pick. Either everyone can express their opinions and hurt just as many feelings as they please, but have the freedom of expression; or everyone can huddle in a little box society creates for them and squeak every time they come close to being politically incorrect. Personally, I can deal with a few feelings hurt. I take the former.


"I'm on my last page, and my circles have gotten progressively less perfect since the first page."
"Really? Mine have just been consistently mediocre."

Beethoven's fifth symphony

It puts me in an interesting mood. I have to listen to it for music History 3, but the actual music is the most enjoyable part of the course. Reading about Beethoven has been pretty inspiring, too - a deaf musician? Can you imagine being that unbelievably talented and then losing your hearing? I read that he had to be turned around to see how wildly people were applauding after his Ninth Symphony (the one with Ode to Joy) because his hearing had completely gone, and he broke into tears. Just...wow. I actually think the Classical era is one of my favorites for music. Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven - really, who wants more? I mean, not that I don't love Bach and Handel and Vivaldi. Vivaldi's Four Seasons = LOVE. But Classical will always hold a special place in my heart.

In other news, I have trouble saying no, getting out of bed when I say I will, and I'll probably always be hopeless at having a busy life. Yeah. I've started to reread Wheel of Time, and am enjoying the first book probably more than I enjoyed it the initial time through. Mostly because this time, unlike then, I did not read the whole book trying a million different ways of pronouncing Nynaeve and Egwene. No, I did not discover the glossary until I finished the book. I was also unclear on the definition of an Aes Sedai for probably the first three. I like Rand SO much better in the earlier books, before he goes angsty and emo. It's not that I judge him for being angsty and emo, because if I were him, I would probably be more so, but all the same I like him better now.

And that, I think, is all for tonight. I am going to go to bed. Or rather, I am going to get ready for bed, read Eye of the World until I can't keep my eyes open, shut off the light, and dream of a certain angsty romantic pairing and a k-word.



"Hi, I'm Ben. Remember me? I was your brother before you got that laptop."

Lookit!

I made this yesterday.

I'm actually SO proud of it - 41 layers! And the most fun with brushes that I've ever had in my entire life. I love swirly decorative-looking brushes. And my precious rain texture, and Caribbean Blue texture. Yes, I use both of these on half the graphics I make. Probably good I'm not going into graphic design, tee hee. I have problems with variety.



"This could be minorly problematic."
Best Phantom Grey quote ever.

Things I love

(and that have happened in the last few days)

- Staying up late talking about character philosophy
- Listening to thunderstorms
- Thinking of ideas and having time to write them
- Believing that dreams actually do come true (watching Enchanted helps. Hehe)
- Lying in bed just thinking
- Waking up and doing devotions and enjoying them
- Feeling like you know what, life's gonna be okay, I'll just roll with it
- Talking to five people simultaneously in different MSN conversations and genuinely enjoying all five
- Getting so wrapped up in a story that the characters seem like real people (and feeling for them like real people, too)
- Wondering if I am one of those people I looked up to so long ago
- Doing something I know I'll enjoy doing and not caring if people think I'm weird
- Feeling guilty, angsty, uberly hyper, mournful, and excited all at the same time (this has to do with the one three above this one, yes)
- Singing random songs to myself, in the shower and out
- Looking back and seeing that I've grown
- Enjoying little things like compliments and yummy food
- Being proud of a 40+ score on the Mary-Sue Litmus Test, cause I'm not changing a thing
- EPIC (read: angsty) crystallization
- Enjoying the quiet and not minding the loud
- Reading excellent fan fiction
- Liking cheesy little signature dragons and giving them names

and last but not least - trusting that ultimately I am not the one who plans my life, and the one who does is far better at it than me.

So I feel very poetic now. Often that happens before bed. All my poetry gets written at two in the morning. I often also like it after I've slept, which is remarkable, because there are times when I wake up and go "Melda, WHAT the HECK were you THINKING?" after writing something late at night. Yes, I do refer to myself in third person, and often as Melda as well. If people call you something long enough...I do not kid, if I was ever in a random public place and someone shouted "Melda!" I would turn around. Yep. I think I'll write another post later when my thoughts aren't so fragmented by wanting to sleep.

Melda

[several quotes]

"My member of parliament calls my dad. A loser."

"Will, can't I even walk around you without you trying to kill me?!"

"Oh, here's the coffee. It was in the syrup container."
"...I had that on my waffles this morning!"

"Does anyone know where my swimsuit is?"
"Oh, it's on top of the freezer."

"If you remember nothing else from school, remember what it feels like to get out for the summer."

Prompt: Dancing

This round of A-U's Writing Prompt Contest was dancing, and this is my slightly random-ish entry. I'm not sure what I think of it. Comments and criticism are welcome :)

Heart of Fire

I sit on the outer edges of the bonfire, watching them dance.

I used to love Midsummer’s Eve. Nothing but play in the day, and in the night, dancing until your knees are weak. I used to be the best dancer of them all.

That was before the accident. I can remember, like a horrible dream, the day I knew I would never dance again. Next I remember the Midsummer’s Eve, a year ago, to which I hobbled on crutches – wooden legs that are no use for dancing - and tried to whirl around the blaze, tried to play the part of a dancer. I didn’t miss the looks of pity, not one. What a tragedy, they whispered behind their hands. Doesn’t she know she’s crippled? Why does she try?

And others answered: She used to be the best, didn’t you know?

After that night, I never tried again. The first thundershower in which I did not leap to the sky with my exultation and cavort with the storm was a month later. I sat at the window and watched lightning shatter the sky into millions of pieces, while thunder scattered them to the four winds. But the next day, the sky was miraculously whole again. My legs weren’t.

There was once. Once I escaped to the meadow and capered through the long grass as best as I knew how. That dance was more a hobble than a jig, but who could know? It was only me, and my heart knew how to dance, even if my legs were forever deaf to its pleas. There, I could fall and lie under the sun in the soft grass and pretend, if only for moments, that I was whole and free and happy. It was always worse, dragging myself home after that, but who in this world will not seize a minute of happiness over an hour of pain?

It gave me hope, for a while, to stretch my hands to the sky and tell it that I could dance, because it did not judge. But the little boys that hid in the bushes judged. Their titters told me what I thought, and their shrill voices told me, even across the meadow, what they saw. She looks like a frog, or a monkey. My mama said she’s crazy, and her mind went when her legs did.

How soon they forgot. And how soon, I knew, they would forget again. Since then I have never danced. If they can forget, why can I not? I asked myself. I will forget. Perhaps I will learn to spin or sew or work a loom, and when I see dancing, my heart will have forgotten, and so it will not twist in my breast like the tortured thing it is. Then there will be no whispers behind hands.

Did it work? No. Because here I sit, staring past wild silhouettes into a fire that beckons my spirit to join it in its darts and leaps of reckless abandon; but my spirit must overcome my body, and my body is too great a weight for it to carry. It wilts like the flowers in the meadow, and with it I wilt, too. This time, I try not to hear what they say behind their hands, but I know its hurt nonetheless. Every day I hear the same from my trapped soul, which beats itself senseless against bars – wooden bars like the legs that cannot dance – and falls, only to awake knowing that it must do the same again. Why won’t she get up again and keep going? We all know loss. This is no different.

Mayhap it isn’t. Mayhap I am only weak. But does a bird burrow like a mole because it loses its wings? Does a fish turn to building nests in trees because its fins fail? Does a heart cease its dancing because its body cannot carry it?

This Midsummer’s Eve, I can feel the flames that kindle in my breast. For a year, they were ashes like a phoenix’s death. But every phoenix is born again. Every heart must again catch the spark that once made it blaze.

Is there talking behind hands, hands that have no hearts? I don’t know. What do they say about me, the girl whose legs will not dance, but whose crutches will? I don’t care. Which is the worse – wooden legs, or no legs at all? The fire leaps and dances with wood.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Because in the end, all that is left is my heart.

And my heart needs no legs to dance.

YC Alberta 2008 - Passion: recap of Friday night

Composed of speakers, concerts, seventeen thousand youth from across Canada, Rexall Place, the wave, tears, very large sandwiches, sore necks from rocking out during concerts, losing your voice, losing your hearing, and above all discovering that our God really IS an awesome God.

Friday, May 23
8:00 pm - YC Alberta kicks off. Dark stadium full of wired youth, and a video to start us off. The theme this year was passion - renewing our passion for sharing Christ and recommitting our lives to God.

Next was the start of our first General Session, which is all 17000 youth in the stadium, and worship led by Tim Hughes, who came all the way from London, England. He's pretty prolific, and has won awards for what (to quote my YC booklet) is 'arguably the biggest modern worship album ever, Here I Am To Worship'. In my personal opinion, he's very good at what he does, and he picked some perfect songs. You can't really have complicated stuff when you have to lead 17000 people in singing.

The speaker for Friday evening was John Bevere. I don't have all of his message in my notes, particularly the end, which was much more reflective than it was intellectual. From what I do have, his basic message was that friendship with God is reserved for those who fear Him. This statement struck me as incongruous, at first, but he did go into it more in-depth. To fear God does not mean to be scared of God. While He loves us with an everlasting love, He is - as one of the later speakers put it, I think - both King and Daddy. To fear God is to regard Him as holy and to hold Him in very high reverence. God will not allow His presence to be felt in a place where He is not highly venerated. The two men in the Old Testament regarded as friends of God were Abraham and Moses. God shared His secrets with them. But they were friends of God not only because God drew near to them, but because they drew near to God. God doesn't force us to draw near, but however close you are to Him, He'll be that close to you. We determine how close we are. Our goal as Christians should be to be friends of God.

10:00 pm - Skillet concert. For anyone who's not familiar with Skillet, they're compared in my booklet to Led Zeppelin. They've been around for a while, and they also are very good at what they do. I stayed for about the first three songs of this concert - I'd never been to a rock concert that big before (actually, I think this weekend included my first three actual concerts ever) and I couldn't handle the volume level or the crazy rate at which the lights were going. Deaf and blind, I tell you. I think that if they hadn't burst in with Skillet the first night and done maybe Hawk Nelson or Newsboys instead, I might have been able to ease into it, but it was a bit of a sensory overload. The sound in Rexall is also a bit fuzzy - I mean, it's a hockey arena. Not exactly built with excellent acoustics. Anyway, the many fans of Skillet enjoyed their appearance very much, and I wandered around outside until the concert was done.

11:00, evening conclusion. Slept like a rock Friday night. I am an introvert, yes. I adjusted better the next day.

(I was hoping to do this all in one post but it doesn't look like happening. Hopefully I have Saturday and Sunday up soon)