Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Christendom
Preface: I wrote the following article in January of 2011. I attempted to have it published in a Christian webzine with a broad audience, but the editors barely even glanced at my query e-mail. (Although disappointed, I was not surprised.) Since then it has lain dormant in my files. I’ve held it sacred because it is the last piece of weighty nonfiction that my overtaxed brain has been able to crank out. (I’m not entirely sure why, but the flow of words and inspiration has receded to a faint trickle and is clogged more often than not.) I’m posting it now for want of anything else to contribute, and because I’m striving to turn the tide of this blog. I didn’t intend for it to lean so far in the direction of humor.
Oddly enough, the issue I decided to address all those months ago seems comparable to the problems we (the authors of A Threefold Cord) have recently grappled with. As I worked on reviving the article, dusting it off and airing it out, I was struck once again by the intensity with which I originally formulated the text. Perhaps I should not be so presumptuous as to bring the article forth at this time, because I am feeling much weaker faith-wise, but what better opportunity have I to demonstrate that God is sufficient and I am not?
___________________________________________________________
“I am a Christian.”
That statement earned the prisoner another slap across the face from one of the nearby soldiers. The Roman proconsul leaned forward, his gray eyes smoldering, and repeated the question: “Who are you, and from where have you come?”
“I have already told you, my good sir, that I am a Christian,” the prisoner replied. He lifted his head and dared to stare directly into the governor’s eyes. “Thereby you know my homeland, lineage, occupation, and everything else besides. What more do you expect me to say?”
The governor was silent for several long moments as he tapped his fingertips along the arm of his chair. The crowd murmured restlessly. Finally, he stood and addressed the entire court.
“Send him to the amphitheater. He shall renounce his faith or die.”
But the young man never broke. He was subjected to unspeakable torture and perished with the words “I am a Christian” on his breath. Such was the fate of many early believers. By the second century A.D., Christianity was illegal and believers throughout the Roman Empire faced imprisonment, torture, or execution. Round after round of interrogation afforded their accusers the same unchanging response: “I am a Christian.”* Though intended to mock followers of the Way (John 14:6), the epithet “Christian” was quickly transfigured—it became the sole insignia believers wore. It identified them as sinners cleansed by the Messiah’s blood, justified and bowed in loyal, loving service to Him. Because their association with Jesus Christ held serious implications for how they lived and died, to assert faith meant to deny self. The Name above all Names defined who they were and who they strove to imitate.
Today the term “Christian” has deteriorated to a mere religious label, a behavioral analysis, a bumper sticker. People who conduct themselves contrary to Biblical standards treat Jesus’ name as an abracadabra-type confession that magically grants them admission into heaven. They give lip service—not heart service—to God, and are neither hot nor cold but lukewarm. Worse still, we know it. Daily we encounter superficial believers at work, at school, at the supermarket, on television, in church, online, and via literature. It’s disturbing and, also, saddening.
I’m reminded of a conversation I had with a friend years ago. She was nine and I was ten, and our parents had enrolled us both in day camp. Aside from those summer classes I doubt we would’ve ever met, much less initiated a friendship. Our lifestyles were wholly diverse.
One afternoon she brought up the subject of religion. I suspect this was due to a boy in our class named Justin, the son of two local youth leaders. He was always spouting Bible verses and painted the star of Bethlehem all over each of his projects. When he started “witnessing” to a fellow classmate, she turned to me and popped the question.
“So, what religion are you?”
I can’t recall my thoughts at the time. I do remember feeling caught off guard. Nobody had ever asked me that before and I wasn’t sure how to respond or what reaction I’d receive.
“Christian,” I said.
Her lips formed into a silent O. She returned to cutting shapes out of construction paper.
“What about you?” I prodded.
“Catholic.”
My comment matched hers. “Oh.” Then the discussion ended. We remained friends for five years; in 2003 her family relocated to Florida and we switched to pen-palling. I never once shared the gospel with her. Looking back, I realize my behavior and actions weren’t enough. She seemed to expect very little of me. And, frankly, I did nothing to prove the faith I somewhat offhandedly professed. Probably my most distinctive attribute was that I shunned Harry Potter.
Jesus cautioned His disciples to expect hostility (John 15:18-21). He explained that He came not to bring peace, but a sword (Matt. 10:34). Hence, as His ambassadors, if our very presence does not rouse indignation in others, we have cause to be concerned. Don’t buy the myth that half of America has been Christianized and almost everyone is in mutual agreement about God, life, and eternity.
All evidence of godliness and common morality has been removed from public schools; our government is corrupt; violence, profanity, and occultism pollute the media and print industries; practices that scripture condemns are legal and celebrated; and scientific propaganda claims the universe was the result of a “big bang.” So what do we do about it? Nothing, absolutely nothing. We’re too busy constructing cottages on the beach, oblivious to the approaching storm (Matt. 7:24-27).
Unbelievers aren’t repulsed by us or our values because we’re just like them. We fit in. We’ve grafted ourselves into the world’s system by compromising our principles—God’s principles. We foolishly suppose we’re shining our lights when in reality we’re learning how—and teaching our children—to be wolves and hypocrites. (See Prov. 12:26, Matt. 5:13, 1 Cor. 15:33-34, James 4:4, and 2 Peter 3:17’s warning.) We’ve diluted the gospel; doctrines such as sovereign election, the total depravity of man, lordship salvation, etc. have been replaced with free-will, prosperity, and self-worth theology to please sensitive ears. Instead of heaping coals onto people’s heads, we’re tossing burnt marshmallows—and the effect isn’t quite the same.
(Please take note: I’m confronting the majority here, not the small, ever-present remnant that does adhere to practical holiness. I’ve been hesitant to adopt the title “Christian” because, first, it imparts only the shallowest connotations anymore. The standards have been lowered to a one-time acceptance of Jesus as Savior; henceforth the individual is free to continue on their merry way, no commitment required. I would rather be a nameless, born-again believer than associated with a bunch of phonies.** Secondly, I shouldn’t be telling others I’m a Christian. I ought to show them. Works do not earn salvation; works affirm salvation, are the result of salvation, and allude to inward transformation. Cf. Matt. 7:16-21; Romans, chapter 6; Eph. 2:8-10; 2 Tim 1:9; Titus 3:3-7; James 2:14-26; and 1 John, chapter 2.)
We’ve all received the story about the gunmen and the prayer meeting in our e-mail inboxes, or seen it posted on a blog. Several armed persons, masked and clad in black, burst into a church and command anyone unwilling to die for their faith to leave. Immediately, a large portion of the group exits the room. As soon as they’re gone, the lead gunman drops his weapon, removes his mask, and quips, “Good. The hypocrites have defected. Now we can really start the meeting.” The account closes with a summons to choose between the two ultimatums and a charge to pass on the message. Far too many Christians forward the e-mail without stopping to consider what’s at stake, or the high cost of believing (Luke 14:26-33).
The formula is not: Christ + me + whatever habits and material items I’m attached to = God’s approval. But it is: Christ + the Holy Spirit’s tender handiwork – me = regeneration (Ezek. 36:25-27; Luke 9:23-26). The cliché, What would Jesus do? is underrated. If you truly love Him, you’ll keep His commandments (John 14:15, 21; James 1:22-25). It’s that simple.
Spiritual lethargy is dangerous—deadly, in fact (Rev. 3:15-17). I don’t care what you’ve done and haven’t done, or how insignificant it may seem. Whether you’ve listened to unholy music, gossiped behind a friend’s back, dressed immodestly, nurtured a feminist viewpoint, watched/read inappropriate movies/books, supported an ungodly institution, used course language, neglected to study the Bible, had an improper relationship with the opposite gender, or any number of “lesser” transgressions (i.e. not murder, theft, or dishonesty)—it matters. Repeated, habitual sin poisons the Christian walk and especially the Christian testimony (1 John 3:4-9). You need to set the record straight, because people are watching. We are called to be “blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom [we] shine as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15). A light shrouded by a cloak of darkness cannot shine or even twinkle, and left unattended, will eventually die.
Examine yourself (2 Cor. 13:5). Are you of the faith?
*J. Spencer Northcote, Epitaphs of the Catacombs or Christian Inscriptions in Rome during the First Four Centuries (London: Longman, Green & Co., 1878; repr., Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2007), 139. Reference cited in John MacArthur, Slave (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2010).
**As advised in 2 Thess. 3:6, 14
Oddly enough, the issue I decided to address all those months ago seems comparable to the problems we (the authors of A Threefold Cord) have recently grappled with. As I worked on reviving the article, dusting it off and airing it out, I was struck once again by the intensity with which I originally formulated the text. Perhaps I should not be so presumptuous as to bring the article forth at this time, because I am feeling much weaker faith-wise, but what better opportunity have I to demonstrate that God is sufficient and I am not?
___________________________________________________________
“I am a Christian.”
That statement earned the prisoner another slap across the face from one of the nearby soldiers. The Roman proconsul leaned forward, his gray eyes smoldering, and repeated the question: “Who are you, and from where have you come?”
“I have already told you, my good sir, that I am a Christian,” the prisoner replied. He lifted his head and dared to stare directly into the governor’s eyes. “Thereby you know my homeland, lineage, occupation, and everything else besides. What more do you expect me to say?”
The governor was silent for several long moments as he tapped his fingertips along the arm of his chair. The crowd murmured restlessly. Finally, he stood and addressed the entire court.
“Send him to the amphitheater. He shall renounce his faith or die.”
But the young man never broke. He was subjected to unspeakable torture and perished with the words “I am a Christian” on his breath. Such was the fate of many early believers. By the second century A.D., Christianity was illegal and believers throughout the Roman Empire faced imprisonment, torture, or execution. Round after round of interrogation afforded their accusers the same unchanging response: “I am a Christian.”* Though intended to mock followers of the Way (John 14:6), the epithet “Christian” was quickly transfigured—it became the sole insignia believers wore. It identified them as sinners cleansed by the Messiah’s blood, justified and bowed in loyal, loving service to Him. Because their association with Jesus Christ held serious implications for how they lived and died, to assert faith meant to deny self. The Name above all Names defined who they were and who they strove to imitate.
Today the term “Christian” has deteriorated to a mere religious label, a behavioral analysis, a bumper sticker. People who conduct themselves contrary to Biblical standards treat Jesus’ name as an abracadabra-type confession that magically grants them admission into heaven. They give lip service—not heart service—to God, and are neither hot nor cold but lukewarm. Worse still, we know it. Daily we encounter superficial believers at work, at school, at the supermarket, on television, in church, online, and via literature. It’s disturbing and, also, saddening.
I’m reminded of a conversation I had with a friend years ago. She was nine and I was ten, and our parents had enrolled us both in day camp. Aside from those summer classes I doubt we would’ve ever met, much less initiated a friendship. Our lifestyles were wholly diverse.
One afternoon she brought up the subject of religion. I suspect this was due to a boy in our class named Justin, the son of two local youth leaders. He was always spouting Bible verses and painted the star of Bethlehem all over each of his projects. When he started “witnessing” to a fellow classmate, she turned to me and popped the question.
“So, what religion are you?”
I can’t recall my thoughts at the time. I do remember feeling caught off guard. Nobody had ever asked me that before and I wasn’t sure how to respond or what reaction I’d receive.
“Christian,” I said.
Her lips formed into a silent O. She returned to cutting shapes out of construction paper.
“What about you?” I prodded.
“Catholic.”
My comment matched hers. “Oh.” Then the discussion ended. We remained friends for five years; in 2003 her family relocated to Florida and we switched to pen-palling. I never once shared the gospel with her. Looking back, I realize my behavior and actions weren’t enough. She seemed to expect very little of me. And, frankly, I did nothing to prove the faith I somewhat offhandedly professed. Probably my most distinctive attribute was that I shunned Harry Potter.
Jesus cautioned His disciples to expect hostility (John 15:18-21). He explained that He came not to bring peace, but a sword (Matt. 10:34). Hence, as His ambassadors, if our very presence does not rouse indignation in others, we have cause to be concerned. Don’t buy the myth that half of America has been Christianized and almost everyone is in mutual agreement about God, life, and eternity.
All evidence of godliness and common morality has been removed from public schools; our government is corrupt; violence, profanity, and occultism pollute the media and print industries; practices that scripture condemns are legal and celebrated; and scientific propaganda claims the universe was the result of a “big bang.” So what do we do about it? Nothing, absolutely nothing. We’re too busy constructing cottages on the beach, oblivious to the approaching storm (Matt. 7:24-27).
Unbelievers aren’t repulsed by us or our values because we’re just like them. We fit in. We’ve grafted ourselves into the world’s system by compromising our principles—God’s principles. We foolishly suppose we’re shining our lights when in reality we’re learning how—and teaching our children—to be wolves and hypocrites. (See Prov. 12:26, Matt. 5:13, 1 Cor. 15:33-34, James 4:4, and 2 Peter 3:17’s warning.) We’ve diluted the gospel; doctrines such as sovereign election, the total depravity of man, lordship salvation, etc. have been replaced with free-will, prosperity, and self-worth theology to please sensitive ears. Instead of heaping coals onto people’s heads, we’re tossing burnt marshmallows—and the effect isn’t quite the same.
(Please take note: I’m confronting the majority here, not the small, ever-present remnant that does adhere to practical holiness. I’ve been hesitant to adopt the title “Christian” because, first, it imparts only the shallowest connotations anymore. The standards have been lowered to a one-time acceptance of Jesus as Savior; henceforth the individual is free to continue on their merry way, no commitment required. I would rather be a nameless, born-again believer than associated with a bunch of phonies.** Secondly, I shouldn’t be telling others I’m a Christian. I ought to show them. Works do not earn salvation; works affirm salvation, are the result of salvation, and allude to inward transformation. Cf. Matt. 7:16-21; Romans, chapter 6; Eph. 2:8-10; 2 Tim 1:9; Titus 3:3-7; James 2:14-26; and 1 John, chapter 2.)
We’ve all received the story about the gunmen and the prayer meeting in our e-mail inboxes, or seen it posted on a blog. Several armed persons, masked and clad in black, burst into a church and command anyone unwilling to die for their faith to leave. Immediately, a large portion of the group exits the room. As soon as they’re gone, the lead gunman drops his weapon, removes his mask, and quips, “Good. The hypocrites have defected. Now we can really start the meeting.” The account closes with a summons to choose between the two ultimatums and a charge to pass on the message. Far too many Christians forward the e-mail without stopping to consider what’s at stake, or the high cost of believing (Luke 14:26-33).
The formula is not: Christ + me + whatever habits and material items I’m attached to = God’s approval. But it is: Christ + the Holy Spirit’s tender handiwork – me = regeneration (Ezek. 36:25-27; Luke 9:23-26). The cliché, What would Jesus do? is underrated. If you truly love Him, you’ll keep His commandments (John 14:15, 21; James 1:22-25). It’s that simple.
Spiritual lethargy is dangerous—deadly, in fact (Rev. 3:15-17). I don’t care what you’ve done and haven’t done, or how insignificant it may seem. Whether you’ve listened to unholy music, gossiped behind a friend’s back, dressed immodestly, nurtured a feminist viewpoint, watched/read inappropriate movies/books, supported an ungodly institution, used course language, neglected to study the Bible, had an improper relationship with the opposite gender, or any number of “lesser” transgressions (i.e. not murder, theft, or dishonesty)—it matters. Repeated, habitual sin poisons the Christian walk and especially the Christian testimony (1 John 3:4-9). You need to set the record straight, because people are watching. We are called to be “blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom [we] shine as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15). A light shrouded by a cloak of darkness cannot shine or even twinkle, and left unattended, will eventually die.
Examine yourself (2 Cor. 13:5). Are you of the faith?
*J. Spencer Northcote, Epitaphs of the Catacombs or Christian Inscriptions in Rome during the First Four Centuries (London: Longman, Green & Co., 1878; repr., Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2007), 139. Reference cited in John MacArthur, Slave (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2010).
**As advised in 2 Thess. 3:6, 14
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
essays,
faith
Saturday, January 28, 2012
According to...
According to Matteo, he can hit Miriam on the head with his toy if he wants to, because it's his toy.
According to Miriam, Matteo can't hit her because it is her head and he is not allowed to touch it.
According to Charles, Ema should never rinse dishes in dry water!
According to Charis, her doll was made in "Malay-uh-sayuh" (Malaysia).
According to Miriam, everything is made in China.
According to Matteo, God created everything—including cars, telephones, etc.
According to Charis, "She (Charis) will be shy."
According to Daniel, the saying either goes, "eat, drink, and be merry," or "eat , drink, and get married."
According to Ema, school takes too long.
According to Miriam, Matteo can't hit her because it is her head and he is not allowed to touch it.
According to Charles, Ema should never rinse dishes in dry water!
According to Charis, her doll was made in "Malay-uh-sayuh" (Malaysia).
According to Miriam, everything is made in China.
According to Matteo, God created everything—including cars, telephones, etc.
According to Charis, "She (Charis) will be shy."
According to Daniel, the saying either goes, "eat, drink, and be merry," or "eat , drink, and get married."
According to Ema, school takes too long.
Tucked in drawer:
by Ema,
eyewitness account,
humor,
two cents
Story of the Week: Who Done It?
“You stole that money, didn’t you?” Mrs. Hershon accused Andrew and Mario.
Mario’s mouth fell open. “We would never steal anything!” he protested. They had been working at their town’s local grocery store for a couple of weeks to earn some extra money.
“I haven’t been anywhere near your cash register. Besides, what would I want with $300?” Andrew defended himself.
Ring! A customer entered the store.
“You two can go home. I’ll talk with your parents later.” Mrs. Hershon left to attend to her customer. The two friends grabbed their coats and headed out the door.
“I’ll have to pray for Mrs. Hershon,” Mario said sympathetically. “Ever since her husband died she has been struggling to keep the business afloat. An incident like this could really hurt her.”
“I suppose,” Andrew replied as he pushed the newly-fallen snow around with his feet.
Mario stared at his BFF; Andrew wasn’t acting normal.
“Want to stop at the bakery for a cup of hot cocoa? Theirs is super delicious! It’ll be my treat,” Andrew offered, trying to break the icy silence between them.
Now that’s the old Andrew! Mario smiled. Maybe I was just imagining things.
They trotted into the toasty bakery. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the air.
“What can I get you?” asked the lady at the counter.
“Two hot cocoas with extra chocolate and marshmallows, please,” Andrew replied and sat down on one of the stools.
“Here you go,” the lady announced, setting the drinks in front of them.
“You were right, these are good!” Mario commented after he’d taken two large sips.
“That will be $3.65,” the lady said after they had finished.
Andrew opened his wallet. He pulled out a wad of six $50 bills. He handed the lady one of them and she went to fetch his change.
“Where’d you get all that money?” Mario asked suspiciously.
“Oh, my uncle sent it as an early birthday present,” Andrew answered casually.
Mario’s mind raced back to earlier when Andrew had said, “What would I want with $300?” How did he know that exactly $300 was missing from the cash register? Mrs. Hershon never specified what amount had been taken!
The second that they walked out the door, Mario asked, “Did you steal Mrs. Hershon’s money?”
“What!” Andrew exclaimed.
“I want the truth: did you steal it or not?”
“Alright! So I took it. Big deal,” Andrew mumbled. He was obviously not ashamed of what he had done.
“Andrew! It’s wrong to steal! It says so in the Bible! And not only that, but you lied about it too!” Mario chided.
“You’re not going to squeal on me, are you?” was Andrew’s concern.
Mario bit his lip. We’ve been best friends for so long. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and Andrew has never done anything like this before. But what he did was wrong. I don’t know what to do.
He made up his mind. “Andrew, you committed a crime. I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to confess to your parents and Mrs. Hershon that you took the money. If not, I will tell them.”
“Some friend you are!” Andrew retorted and stomped off.
Mario prayed on the way home. Dear wonderful Heavenly Father, I don’t think my friend Andrew is a Christian. He’s never said he was or wasn’t a Christian—I just assumed that he was. But I know that he cannot save himself. Only you can do that. Help me to do what is right. And help me to minister to Andrew. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The next morning Mario trudged into Mrs. Hershon’s grocery store. Inside stood Andrew with an unhappy expression on his face. His parents were talking with Mrs. Hershon.
“I’m sorry for this,” Mario heard Andrew’s father say. “I’m afraid the boy next door has been a bad influence on Andrew. Good day.” Andrew and his parents left.
Next time I see Andrew, thought Mario, I’ll be sure to have a discussion with him about the Bible.
Mario’s mouth fell open. “We would never steal anything!” he protested. They had been working at their town’s local grocery store for a couple of weeks to earn some extra money.
“I haven’t been anywhere near your cash register. Besides, what would I want with $300?” Andrew defended himself.
Ring! A customer entered the store.
“You two can go home. I’ll talk with your parents later.” Mrs. Hershon left to attend to her customer. The two friends grabbed their coats and headed out the door.
“I’ll have to pray for Mrs. Hershon,” Mario said sympathetically. “Ever since her husband died she has been struggling to keep the business afloat. An incident like this could really hurt her.”
“I suppose,” Andrew replied as he pushed the newly-fallen snow around with his feet.
Mario stared at his BFF; Andrew wasn’t acting normal.
“Want to stop at the bakery for a cup of hot cocoa? Theirs is super delicious! It’ll be my treat,” Andrew offered, trying to break the icy silence between them.
Now that’s the old Andrew! Mario smiled. Maybe I was just imagining things.
They trotted into the toasty bakery. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the air.
“What can I get you?” asked the lady at the counter.
“Two hot cocoas with extra chocolate and marshmallows, please,” Andrew replied and sat down on one of the stools.
“Here you go,” the lady announced, setting the drinks in front of them.
“You were right, these are good!” Mario commented after he’d taken two large sips.
“That will be $3.65,” the lady said after they had finished.
Andrew opened his wallet. He pulled out a wad of six $50 bills. He handed the lady one of them and she went to fetch his change.
“Where’d you get all that money?” Mario asked suspiciously.
“Oh, my uncle sent it as an early birthday present,” Andrew answered casually.
Mario’s mind raced back to earlier when Andrew had said, “What would I want with $300?” How did he know that exactly $300 was missing from the cash register? Mrs. Hershon never specified what amount had been taken!
The second that they walked out the door, Mario asked, “Did you steal Mrs. Hershon’s money?”
“What!” Andrew exclaimed.
“I want the truth: did you steal it or not?”
“Alright! So I took it. Big deal,” Andrew mumbled. He was obviously not ashamed of what he had done.
“Andrew! It’s wrong to steal! It says so in the Bible! And not only that, but you lied about it too!” Mario chided.
“You’re not going to squeal on me, are you?” was Andrew’s concern.
Mario bit his lip. We’ve been best friends for so long. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and Andrew has never done anything like this before. But what he did was wrong. I don’t know what to do.
He made up his mind. “Andrew, you committed a crime. I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to confess to your parents and Mrs. Hershon that you took the money. If not, I will tell them.”
“Some friend you are!” Andrew retorted and stomped off.
Mario prayed on the way home. Dear wonderful Heavenly Father, I don’t think my friend Andrew is a Christian. He’s never said he was or wasn’t a Christian—I just assumed that he was. But I know that he cannot save himself. Only you can do that. Help me to do what is right. And help me to minister to Andrew. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
The next morning Mario trudged into Mrs. Hershon’s grocery store. Inside stood Andrew with an unhappy expression on his face. His parents were talking with Mrs. Hershon.
“I’m sorry for this,” Mario heard Andrew’s father say. “I’m afraid the boy next door has been a bad influence on Andrew. Good day.” Andrew and his parents left.
Next time I see Andrew, thought Mario, I’ll be sure to have a discussion with him about the Bible.
THE END
Southwest Roll-ups
Ingredients:
1 can refried beans
3/4 cup to 1 1/2 cups of salsa (depending upon your desired degree of moistness)
1-2 cups of shredded chicken
1 cup cheese
8-10 tortillas
For the sauce:
2 cups heavy whipping cream
2 cups shredded cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese
Directions:
Mix together the beans, salsa, chicken, and cup of cheese. Spread a couple tablespoons' worth of the mixture onto a tortilla. Roll up and fold ends under (so that they won't become too crusty). Place in 9x13" pan and then pour on the whipping cream. Cook at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Sprinkle on the cheese and return it to the oven for another 10 minutes. Yields approximately 6 servings.
1 can refried beans
3/4 cup to 1 1/2 cups of salsa (depending upon your desired degree of moistness)
1-2 cups of shredded chicken
1 cup cheese
8-10 tortillas
For the sauce:
2 cups heavy whipping cream
2 cups shredded cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese
Directions:
Mix together the beans, salsa, chicken, and cup of cheese. Spread a couple tablespoons' worth of the mixture onto a tortilla. Roll up and fold ends under (so that they won't become too crusty). Place in 9x13" pan and then pour on the whipping cream. Cook at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Sprinkle on the cheese and return it to the oven for another 10 minutes. Yields approximately 6 servings.
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
recipes
Friday, January 27, 2012
Laugh Out Loud
Q: "Were you long at the hospital?"
A: "No, I was the same size I am now."
Q: Why was everyone so tired on April 1st?
A: They had just finished a March of 31 days.
Q: Which hand is it better to write with?
A: Neither; it's best to write with a pen!
Q: Why can't your nose be 12 inches long?
A: Because then it would be a foot!
Q: What is it that even the most careful person (i.e. Brianna) overlooks?
A: Her nose!
Q: Why do you go to bed every night?
A: Because the bed won't come to you!
Q: How do you cure a headache?
A: Put your head through a window and the pane will just disappear.
Q: Why did the man run around his bed?
A: To catch up on his sleep!
Diner: "Waiter, this coffee tastes like mud."
Waiter: "It was just ground this morning."
Lady: "Please give me a pound of bacon and make it lean."
Grocery clerk: "Left or right?"
Q: What is in every minute and twice in every moment, but never in a thousand years?
A: The letter "m."
Q: Why do bicycles fall over?
A: Because they are two-tired.
Q: What did Cinderella say when her photos didn't show up?
A: "Someday my prints (prince) will come."
Q: What did one elevator say to the other elevator?
A: "I think I'm coming down with something."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Nobel."
"Nobel who?"
"No bell—that's why I knocked."
Taco Spaghetti
1 pound of ground beef
5 oz. spaghetti noodles, broken into smaller pieces
Onion powder to taste
3/4 cup water
2 tbs. taco seasoning
11 oz. can of corn, drained
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
3/4 cup salsa
1 cup crushed taco chips
Cook pasta, rinse, and drain. In a large pan, brown your ground beef and sprinkle in onion powder. Then add the taco seasoning and water. Bring to boil, then reduce the heat and let simmer for a few minutes. Be sure to stir it so that it won't stick to the pan. Next add the pasta, corn, salsa, cheese, and taco chips. Mix together and pour it into a greased two-quart casserole dish. Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. Top with cheese. Makes approximately 5 servings.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
HTML
Well, I am now two and a half weeks into my HMTL/CSS class, and so far it has been pretty interesting. Sometimes less than others, but oh well.
Our assignment for this week, or part of it, was to make and construct Philippians 4 into an HTML document. We have (Charles and I worked together on it) so far constructed this page—well, what you'll have to do is copy and paste the following into a text document (notepad will work just fine) and then save it as an .html file. Then, find it in your documents and double click to open it. It should open in your default web browser.
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" >
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />
<title>Philippians 4</title>
<style type="text/css">
body
h1 {text-align:center;}
p.date {text-align:right;}
p.main {text-align:justify;}
h1 {text-decoration:underline;}
</style>
</head>
<body style=background-color:#8B8989>
<h1 style=background-color:808080>Philippians 4 </h1>
<hr />
<ol>
<li><strong>Therefore, </strong>, my beloved brethren whom I long to see, my joy and crown, in this way stand firm in the Lord, my beloved.</li>
<h5> <em> Encouredgment for Euodia and Syntyche</em></h5>
<li> I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to live in harmony in the Lord. </li>
<li> Indeed, true companion, I ask you also to help these women who have shared my struggle in the cause of the gospel, together with Clement also and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life. </li>
<h5><em>Instruction to the congregation</em></h5>
<li> Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice! </li>
<li> Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near. </li>
<li> Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. </li>
<li> And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. </li>
<li> Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. </li>
<li> The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you. </li>
<h5><em>The Philippian's gift, God's sufficiency</em></h5>
<li> But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly, that now at last you have revived your concern for me; indeed, you were concerned before, but you lacked opportunity.
<li>Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.</li>
<li>I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.</li>
<li> I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. </li>
<li> Nevertheless, you have done well to share with me in my affliction. </li>
<li> You yourselves also know, Philippians, that at the first preaching of the gospel, after I left Macedonia, no church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving but you alone; </li>
<li> for even in Thessalonica you sent a gift more than once for my needs. </li>
<li> Not that I seek the gift itself, but I seek for the profit which increases to your account. </li>
<li> But I have received everything in full and have an abundance; I am amply supplied, having received from Epaphroditus what you have sent, a fragrant aroma, an acceptable sacrifice, well-pleasing to God.</li>
<li> And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. </li>
<li> Now to our God and Father be the glory forever and ever. Amen. </li>
<li> Greet every saint in Christ Jesus. The brethren who are with me greet you.</li>
<h5><em>Farewell</em></h5>
<li> All the saints greet you, especially those of Caesar?s household. </li>
<li> The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.</li>
</ol>
<hr />
<p>One of the things that we want to ask ourselves as we look at this chapter is the question that one should ask himself whenever he sees the word that appears first in this section. That word is "therefore." So, as I have heard my dad say, we want to ask ourselves: "What is the therefore there for?" In order to answer this question, we must look at the previous section and see what the author, in this case, Paul, has been talking about.
Let's start in Philippians chapter five, verse seventeen. Paul is talking to the "brethren" of Phillipi
</body>
</html>
I am not sure that I am done with it yet. Any suggestions?
Our assignment for this week, or part of it, was to make and construct Philippians 4 into an HTML document. We have (Charles and I worked together on it) so far constructed this page—well, what you'll have to do is copy and paste the following into a text document (notepad will work just fine) and then save it as an .html file. Then, find it in your documents and double click to open it. It should open in your default web browser.
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" >
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />
<title>Philippians 4</title>
<style type="text/css">
body
h1 {text-align:center;}
p.date {text-align:right;}
p.main {text-align:justify;}
h1 {text-decoration:underline;}
</style>
</head>
<body style=background-color:#8B8989>
<h1 style=background-color:808080>Philippians 4 </h1>
<hr />
<ol>
<li><strong>Therefore, </strong>, my beloved brethren whom I long to see, my joy and crown, in this way stand firm in the Lord, my beloved.</li>
<h5> <em> Encouredgment for Euodia and Syntyche</em></h5>
<li> I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to live in harmony in the Lord. </li>
<li> Indeed, true companion, I ask you also to help these women who have shared my struggle in the cause of the gospel, together with Clement also and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life. </li>
<h5><em>Instruction to the congregation</em></h5>
<li> Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice! </li>
<li> Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near. </li>
<li> Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. </li>
<li> And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. </li>
<li> Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. </li>
<li> The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you. </li>
<h5><em>The Philippian's gift, God's sufficiency</em></h5>
<li> But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly, that now at last you have revived your concern for me; indeed, you were concerned before, but you lacked opportunity.
<li>Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.</li>
<li>I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.</li>
<li> I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. </li>
<li> Nevertheless, you have done well to share with me in my affliction. </li>
<li> You yourselves also know, Philippians, that at the first preaching of the gospel, after I left Macedonia, no church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving but you alone; </li>
<li> for even in Thessalonica you sent a gift more than once for my needs. </li>
<li> Not that I seek the gift itself, but I seek for the profit which increases to your account. </li>
<li> But I have received everything in full and have an abundance; I am amply supplied, having received from Epaphroditus what you have sent, a fragrant aroma, an acceptable sacrifice, well-pleasing to God.</li>
<li> And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. </li>
<li> Now to our God and Father be the glory forever and ever. Amen. </li>
<li> Greet every saint in Christ Jesus. The brethren who are with me greet you.</li>
<h5><em>Farewell</em></h5>
<li> All the saints greet you, especially those of Caesar?s household. </li>
<li> The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.</li>
</ol>
<hr />
<p>One of the things that we want to ask ourselves as we look at this chapter is the question that one should ask himself whenever he sees the word that appears first in this section. That word is "therefore." So, as I have heard my dad say, we want to ask ourselves: "What is the therefore there for?" In order to answer this question, we must look at the previous section and see what the author, in this case, Paul, has been talking about.
Let's start in Philippians chapter five, verse seventeen. Paul is talking to the "brethren" of Phillipi
</body>
</html>
I am not sure that I am done with it yet. Any suggestions?
Another Story
This story is one that will be delivered one chapter at a time and it is intended to last for a while. I hope to be publishing at least one or two chapters, or sections, a week, but we will see how the Lord works that out.
Well, here goes!
“Yes mom,” Jamie answered as she turned to rummage through the cupboard. "Where is that bowl? Where did it go?” she mumbled. She turned as she heard the familiar steps of her twin brother behind her.
“Jason, do you know where mom’s little silver bowl went? I want to put the leftover soup in it.”
“Oh, it’s dirty,” Jason answered and skipped out of the room.
“Why does everything HAVE to be dirty?” Jamie grumbled. Guess I’ll just do something else, she thought happily and skipped out after her twin. Wham! She and her younger brother collided as they both tried to round the corner at the same time.
“Watch where you’re going!” Jamie instantly shouted, then was overcome with remorse as the four-year-old began to cry and left to search for his mommy.
“I’m sorry, Amos. I didn’t see you there,” Jamie told the retreating figure.
“Jamie, move! You're in the walkway.”
Jamie turned to her little sister Andrea. “You don’t have to be so rude,” Jamie retorted. “You could have said excuse me.”
Andrea never answered, but walked right by. Nobody listens to me, Jamie thought forlornly.
Just then, Jamie heard the front door creak open and a familiar voice say, "Hello, honey. How was your day?”
“Daddy!” Jamie squealed and joined the pack of children stampeding towards the door.
“Hello, hello!” was her father's answer to the huge group hug.
Jamie suddenly slipped away into the kitchen. Several minutes later she returned bearing a bowl of soup balanced carefully next to some crackers arrayed on a platter.
“Here!” she beamed, “is your dinner, Dad!”
“My, my, that was quick,” Dad exclaimed. “Let me wash my hands first, at least.” Dad broke himself away from the crowd of children and headed for the hallway.
“All right, guys, I know that you’re excited to see your dad, but the kitchen work needs to be done,” Mom gently commanded.
“Oooohhhhhh! Do I have to?” Jamie's twelve-year-old brother spoke up for the first time.
“Come on, Matthew; let’s not end the day with complaining.” Mom turned as dad reentered the room.
“Go on now,” Dad commanded, and the older three turned slowly to the kitchen door while the younger ones went off to clamber around the parents while they ate.
A few minutes later, Jamie popped her head into the dining room.
“Done yet?” she chirped.
“Just about,” Dad answered before turning back to Mom. "I will need to go study after dinner. I need to finish that book. I have about 200 pages left and I think that I could get it done in an hour and a half or so. I won’t have time to do it in the morning; that’s when I will need to finish that cabinet.”
“When is the reading due?” Mom asked.
“Tomorrow.”
There was silence for a moment. Dad handed the bowl to Jamie, who was still standing there. “I’m done now. Thank you!” He smiled.
Jamie scampered to the kitchen and sidled up next to her twin, who was wearily drying the dishes and putting them away. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. “Dad has to study again tonight.”
“So. Nothing new,” Jason answered grumpily. “Sometimes I get up early and find Dad making coffee before he goes to study some more. Sometimes even at four or five o’clock.”
“Does he study all night?” Jamie's eyes grew wide.
“Course not,” Jason snorted. “He just gets up early.”
“I wish I could get up that early,” Jamie mumbled reverently as she went away. “Then I would make the coffee for Dad!”
Dad managed to pry his eyes open a slit. “What? Oh, goodnight, Jason.”
Jamie tiptoed into the dim living room. “Good, you’re awake. Goodnight.” She walked up and hugged her father. “See you in the morning.”
“Oh, wow, it’s eleven o'clock already. You guys should be in bed by now!”
“We were. We couldn’t get to sleep so we kept on checking to see whenever you would wake up so that we could tell you goodnight,” Jason explained quickly.
That’s probably why you couldn’t sleep, Dad thought. “Where is your Mother?” Dad stood up and looked around.
“In your room putting baby Trevor to sleep. He was pretty fussy tonight because Matthew fed him ice cream during lunch. He—” Jamie would have gabbed about the whole story, but Dad cut her short.
“I don’t need to hear the whole thing, but you guys do need to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The twins scampered down the hall to the room they shared amongst all the siblings and literally jumped into bed. Jamie heard Dad talk quietly to Mom for a second. A few minutes later she heard the study door click shut. There was silence for a time.
“Matthew?” Jamie whispered loudly.
No answer.
“Jason?”
No answer.
“Guess they're asleep.” Jamie rolled over and faced the wall. Soon she joined them in the Land of Nod.
Well, here goes!
The Family
(A Big One)
Eight-year-old Jamie plopped the dish onto the stove with a bang.
“Careful in there!” her mother warned from the dining room. “I don’t want my dishes broken!”“Yes mom,” Jamie answered as she turned to rummage through the cupboard. "Where is that bowl? Where did it go?” she mumbled. She turned as she heard the familiar steps of her twin brother behind her.
“Jason, do you know where mom’s little silver bowl went? I want to put the leftover soup in it.”
“Oh, it’s dirty,” Jason answered and skipped out of the room.
“Why does everything HAVE to be dirty?” Jamie grumbled. Guess I’ll just do something else, she thought happily and skipped out after her twin. Wham! She and her younger brother collided as they both tried to round the corner at the same time.
“Watch where you’re going!” Jamie instantly shouted, then was overcome with remorse as the four-year-old began to cry and left to search for his mommy.
“I’m sorry, Amos. I didn’t see you there,” Jamie told the retreating figure.
“Jamie, move! You're in the walkway.”
Jamie turned to her little sister Andrea. “You don’t have to be so rude,” Jamie retorted. “You could have said excuse me.”
Andrea never answered, but walked right by. Nobody listens to me, Jamie thought forlornly.
Just then, Jamie heard the front door creak open and a familiar voice say, "Hello, honey. How was your day?”
“Daddy!” Jamie squealed and joined the pack of children stampeding towards the door.
“Hello, hello!” was her father's answer to the huge group hug.
Jamie suddenly slipped away into the kitchen. Several minutes later she returned bearing a bowl of soup balanced carefully next to some crackers arrayed on a platter.
“Here!” she beamed, “is your dinner, Dad!”
“My, my, that was quick,” Dad exclaimed. “Let me wash my hands first, at least.” Dad broke himself away from the crowd of children and headed for the hallway.
“All right, guys, I know that you’re excited to see your dad, but the kitchen work needs to be done,” Mom gently commanded.
“Oooohhhhhh! Do I have to?” Jamie's twelve-year-old brother spoke up for the first time.
“Come on, Matthew; let’s not end the day with complaining.” Mom turned as dad reentered the room.
“Go on now,” Dad commanded, and the older three turned slowly to the kitchen door while the younger ones went off to clamber around the parents while they ate.
A few minutes later, Jamie popped her head into the dining room.
“Done yet?” she chirped.
“Just about,” Dad answered before turning back to Mom. "I will need to go study after dinner. I need to finish that book. I have about 200 pages left and I think that I could get it done in an hour and a half or so. I won’t have time to do it in the morning; that’s when I will need to finish that cabinet.”
“When is the reading due?” Mom asked.
“Tomorrow.”
There was silence for a moment. Dad handed the bowl to Jamie, who was still standing there. “I’m done now. Thank you!” He smiled.
Jamie scampered to the kitchen and sidled up next to her twin, who was wearily drying the dishes and putting them away. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. “Dad has to study again tonight.”
“So. Nothing new,” Jason answered grumpily. “Sometimes I get up early and find Dad making coffee before he goes to study some more. Sometimes even at four or five o’clock.”
“Does he study all night?” Jamie's eyes grew wide.
“Course not,” Jason snorted. “He just gets up early.”
“I wish I could get up that early,” Jamie mumbled reverently as she went away. “Then I would make the coffee for Dad!”
***
“Good night, Dad.” Jason leaned closer to where his exhausted father had collapsed onto the couch and was dozing.
“Dad, Dad.”Dad managed to pry his eyes open a slit. “What? Oh, goodnight, Jason.”
Jamie tiptoed into the dim living room. “Good, you’re awake. Goodnight.” She walked up and hugged her father. “See you in the morning.”
“Oh, wow, it’s eleven o'clock already. You guys should be in bed by now!”
“We were. We couldn’t get to sleep so we kept on checking to see whenever you would wake up so that we could tell you goodnight,” Jason explained quickly.
That’s probably why you couldn’t sleep, Dad thought. “Where is your Mother?” Dad stood up and looked around.
“In your room putting baby Trevor to sleep. He was pretty fussy tonight because Matthew fed him ice cream during lunch. He—” Jamie would have gabbed about the whole story, but Dad cut her short.
“I don’t need to hear the whole thing, but you guys do need to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The twins scampered down the hall to the room they shared amongst all the siblings and literally jumped into bed. Jamie heard Dad talk quietly to Mom for a second. A few minutes later she heard the study door click shut. There was silence for a time.
“Matthew?” Jamie whispered loudly.
No answer.
“Jason?”
No answer.
“Guess they're asleep.” Jamie rolled over and faced the wall. Soon she joined them in the Land of Nod.
The Favorite Word
I think Matteo's and Charis's favorite word is mitt because they said mitt almost the whole time we were going somewhere. And then...I think that's the end. I didn't want to post that... Ema...uuuuuhhhh. Ema, you can't say that!
Let's see, what do I want to post now????
Almost every day I play Polly with Charis and sometimes Matteo and Ema. We got a new tub for them. I like driving my girls to the store.
On Friday night we sleep in the living room. Even last night we did because it was Friday. Almost every Friday night we get glow sticks, too.
I can't wait until three more days because then it is Matteo's birthday. On April 12th is my birthday. Even I like picking out balloons; I will pick out the best I can think of.
The other day was Charis's birthday. She liked her balloons and her cake even better. She got a baby with a sippy cup. I think the baby's favorite thing is an owl because she has some all around her. On Charis's cake were gummy butterflies and M&Ms. Of course you knew she would get Oreo mint and Reese's ice cream with Mocha Mudslide to go with her chocolate cake.
Talk to you later!
Let's see, what do I want to post now????
Almost every day I play Polly with Charis and sometimes Matteo and Ema. We got a new tub for them. I like driving my girls to the store.
On Friday night we sleep in the living room. Even last night we did because it was Friday. Almost every Friday night we get glow sticks, too.
I can't wait until three more days because then it is Matteo's birthday. On April 12th is my birthday. Even I like picking out balloons; I will pick out the best I can think of.
The other day was Charis's birthday. She liked her balloons and her cake even better. She got a baby with a sippy cup. I think the baby's favorite thing is an owl because she has some all around her. On Charis's cake were gummy butterflies and M&Ms. Of course you knew she would get Oreo mint and Reese's ice cream with Mocha Mudslide to go with her chocolate cake.
Talk to you later!
Tucked in drawer:
by Miriam,
eyewitness account,
facts,
humor,
thoughts
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Sunday Morning Chronicle: Late Edition, vol. 1 no. 6
A randomized sampling of our Sunday(e?)s, with a dollop of whip cream and a Banana point of view.
Time is short. Only two more Sundays, and all will be quiet again. I don’t want to think about it. I wish I could capsule all of our escapades and be able to open and reexperience them whenever I’m feeling lonely. Their smiles, the sound of their laughter, and their zest for life are what I will miss most.
We all shuffled into the living room for our Bible study session. Oddly enough, our group was arranged in two semicircles, with the ladies occupying one half of the room and the men and boys seated opposite them. You could call it unintentional gender-segregation.
Wyatt was my lap-warmer and snuggle buddy. I held my Bible in front of him as I followed along with the reading. He kept grasping at the cover and shoving the pages to the left or right. He appeared to be staring intently at the text, as if he understood and was concerned about it. How appropriate for a pastor’s son.
Lunch was ready promptly. Charles insisted that we must rate his mom’s soup, on a scale of 1 to 10. He was convinced that it deserved a 10. I deemed it probably an 8 or 9 (but, as I explained to him, I rarely rate anything a 10); Mariah judged it at a 7 or 8. He chided me for neglecting to take taco chips and Mariah for disliking sour cream.
I spilled the beans that Charles started his own blog. I enjoyed witnessing the bewildered expression on his and the others’ faces when I unexpectedly asked him about it.
Back in late November, we discovered a praying mantis nest attached to our Christmas tree and I gave it to Daniel, thinking he would consider it an interesting specimen. Well, he stowed it on a shelf in his bedroom and forgot about it. We recently received an e-mail from his family stating that something we had done several weeks previous was now “bugging” them, but they refused to specify what. My mom, dad, Mariah, and I assumed the message was a prank and that they were attempting to ensnare us into begging for further details. It turns out that Daniel’s praying mantis nest warmed up and hatched one morning, expelling dozens of the insects. The tiny critters expired within 24 hours though, because they were famished.
Charles is guilty of infesting our house with cockroaches. As the saying goes, where there’s one (I’m referring to the rubber toy he bestowed me with on Christmas), there’s bound to be more! He’ll be footing the extermination bill.
Joshua aspires to go elk hunting with his uncle this fall—before he’s promoted to a pricey adult hunting license.
Our afternoon was fully booked. We had a game plan: round two of Homeschoolopoly. Mariah and Ema stole away to claim their spots on the couch and to guard the board from small hands that might meddle with the playing pieces. I swiped our dining table clean of messes and then I too headed for the basement. Charis requested that I carry her, so I delivered her to the bottom. We had to wait on Charles and Joshua. They lingered upstairs. It was almost reminiscent of the good old days when we’d be plotting an activity in the Sunday school room and the older boys would be dilatory about participating. Daniel volunteered to summon them, dragging them down by the ears if necessary. Charles put in an appearance a few minutes later. He commanded Samuel to relinquish the recliner at the end of the sectional, which had formerly been his, and move onto the floor. Samuel sweetly retorted that Charles shouldn’t compel a poor man to sit low (he was alluding to James 2:1-4). But he did eventually comply. Miriam and Matteo squabbled over who would be privileged to occupy the space beside me. Miriam was my accountant—she organized my money as the cash from my holdings flowed in. Daniel concentrated on snitching money out from underneath Charles’s nose, testing to see if he’d notice. I was so amused that I decided to get in on the fun. During an intermission, I hid one of Charles’s $500 bills inside the armrest of his chair. He didn’t realize it was missing until Matteo ratted me out. He tried to fine me for the offense, but none of us had agreed to such a punishment, so his suggestion was vetoed. One by one, my business associates went bankrupt. Samuel was the first to go bust. We bid him farewell with a round of applause, whistles, and cheers. Joshua remained afloat for a smidgeon longer before an insurmountable debt sunk him. Mariah and Ema squeaked through to third place. Finally, Charles and I were the sole players left standing. I had acquired two more monopolies and six keys of knowledge since last tally. Charles was still relying on his curricula duo (the most expensive on the block) for an income. But he mumbled that he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The kids were all abuzz about the situation—they stampeded up and down the stairs constantly, checking the status so that they could report back to headquarters. Even our dads were curious and paid us a visit. I broke the bank. Every single $500 and $100 bill was in my possession. I hardly ever—practically never—win at monopoly, so I was as shocked as anybody. Charles was a graceful loser, though he did inform me that he wouldn’t bother to rescue my Mii character if it showed up in the dino stage of trigger twist on the Wii. He’d just let me be eaten.
At last I was provided with an opportunity to avenge myself of the prank that Ema pulled on me three months ago (though it seems as if it were yesterday). She scared me with a cornstalk. Yes, that’s right, a cornstalk. I’ll spare you the details. Anyway, as Pastor was herding his family out the door, Charis announced that she needed to use the restroom. Ema was assigned the task of attending to her. Everyone else had already boarded the van and was buckling themselves in for the journey home. The moment we heard the bathroom door latch, we switched off all the lights on the main floor of our house. When Ema emerged acting somewhat confused, I snuck up behind her, grabbed her shoulders, and yelled. She didn’t jump or utter a peep, but her cheeks shone crimson in the beam of headlights streaming through our glass storm door.
Time is short. Only two more Sundays, and all will be quiet again. I don’t want to think about it. I wish I could capsule all of our escapades and be able to open and reexperience them whenever I’m feeling lonely. Their smiles, the sound of their laughter, and their zest for life are what I will miss most.
~*~
At 10:30 a.m., the routine began afresh. Joshua was the first to enter. He bore a pot of tortilla soup (our lunch), which, upon arriving at the door, he transferred to me. I set it on the stove while he returned to the van to get another load of food. Then Charles admitted himself. I was surprised that he wasn’t wearing even a stitch of yellow. He immediately handed Wyatt to me. Miriam was the next person to step inside our front hall. She showed off her new floral Bible case and entertained Wyatt by making faces at him. The rest of the gang filed in all at once. Matteo nearly slipped on a puddle of melted snow. We all shuffled into the living room for our Bible study session. Oddly enough, our group was arranged in two semicircles, with the ladies occupying one half of the room and the men and boys seated opposite them. You could call it unintentional gender-segregation.
Wyatt was my lap-warmer and snuggle buddy. I held my Bible in front of him as I followed along with the reading. He kept grasping at the cover and shoving the pages to the left or right. He appeared to be staring intently at the text, as if he understood and was concerned about it. How appropriate for a pastor’s son.
Lunch was ready promptly. Charles insisted that we must rate his mom’s soup, on a scale of 1 to 10. He was convinced that it deserved a 10. I deemed it probably an 8 or 9 (but, as I explained to him, I rarely rate anything a 10); Mariah judged it at a 7 or 8. He chided me for neglecting to take taco chips and Mariah for disliking sour cream.
I spilled the beans that Charles started his own blog. I enjoyed witnessing the bewildered expression on his and the others’ faces when I unexpectedly asked him about it.
Back in late November, we discovered a praying mantis nest attached to our Christmas tree and I gave it to Daniel, thinking he would consider it an interesting specimen. Well, he stowed it on a shelf in his bedroom and forgot about it. We recently received an e-mail from his family stating that something we had done several weeks previous was now “bugging” them, but they refused to specify what. My mom, dad, Mariah, and I assumed the message was a prank and that they were attempting to ensnare us into begging for further details. It turns out that Daniel’s praying mantis nest warmed up and hatched one morning, expelling dozens of the insects. The tiny critters expired within 24 hours though, because they were famished.
Charles is guilty of infesting our house with cockroaches. As the saying goes, where there’s one (I’m referring to the rubber toy he bestowed me with on Christmas), there’s bound to be more! He’ll be footing the extermination bill.
Joshua aspires to go elk hunting with his uncle this fall—before he’s promoted to a pricey adult hunting license.
Our afternoon was fully booked. We had a game plan: round two of Homeschoolopoly. Mariah and Ema stole away to claim their spots on the couch and to guard the board from small hands that might meddle with the playing pieces. I swiped our dining table clean of messes and then I too headed for the basement. Charis requested that I carry her, so I delivered her to the bottom. We had to wait on Charles and Joshua. They lingered upstairs. It was almost reminiscent of the good old days when we’d be plotting an activity in the Sunday school room and the older boys would be dilatory about participating. Daniel volunteered to summon them, dragging them down by the ears if necessary. Charles put in an appearance a few minutes later. He commanded Samuel to relinquish the recliner at the end of the sectional, which had formerly been his, and move onto the floor. Samuel sweetly retorted that Charles shouldn’t compel a poor man to sit low (he was alluding to James 2:1-4). But he did eventually comply. Miriam and Matteo squabbled over who would be privileged to occupy the space beside me. Miriam was my accountant—she organized my money as the cash from my holdings flowed in. Daniel concentrated on snitching money out from underneath Charles’s nose, testing to see if he’d notice. I was so amused that I decided to get in on the fun. During an intermission, I hid one of Charles’s $500 bills inside the armrest of his chair. He didn’t realize it was missing until Matteo ratted me out. He tried to fine me for the offense, but none of us had agreed to such a punishment, so his suggestion was vetoed. One by one, my business associates went bankrupt. Samuel was the first to go bust. We bid him farewell with a round of applause, whistles, and cheers. Joshua remained afloat for a smidgeon longer before an insurmountable debt sunk him. Mariah and Ema squeaked through to third place. Finally, Charles and I were the sole players left standing. I had acquired two more monopolies and six keys of knowledge since last tally. Charles was still relying on his curricula duo (the most expensive on the block) for an income. But he mumbled that he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The kids were all abuzz about the situation—they stampeded up and down the stairs constantly, checking the status so that they could report back to headquarters. Even our dads were curious and paid us a visit. I broke the bank. Every single $500 and $100 bill was in my possession. I hardly ever—practically never—win at monopoly, so I was as shocked as anybody. Charles was a graceful loser, though he did inform me that he wouldn’t bother to rescue my Mii character if it showed up in the dino stage of trigger twist on the Wii. He’d just let me be eaten.
At last I was provided with an opportunity to avenge myself of the prank that Ema pulled on me three months ago (though it seems as if it were yesterday). She scared me with a cornstalk. Yes, that’s right, a cornstalk. I’ll spare you the details. Anyway, as Pastor was herding his family out the door, Charis announced that she needed to use the restroom. Ema was assigned the task of attending to her. Everyone else had already boarded the van and was buckling themselves in for the journey home. The moment we heard the bathroom door latch, we switched off all the lights on the main floor of our house. When Ema emerged acting somewhat confused, I snuck up behind her, grabbed her shoulders, and yelled. She didn’t jump or utter a peep, but her cheeks shone crimson in the beam of headlights streaming through our glass storm door.
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
church,
eyewitness account,
humor,
thoughts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Story of the Week: Alone in the Woods, Part 2
I hurriedly leaped off the road and precariously rolled down the hill.
"Ouch!" I yelled as my foot rammed into our truck, causing me to come to a halt. I tried to stand up. A shot of pain went through my right foot. Oh great, it's broken. I sat down on a patch of grass, hoping it would ease my pain. Brr, I thought, pulling my jacket tighter. It's getting colder. Slowly, darkness enveloped the forest. I looked upward, expecting to see stars. Clouds must be covering them, I assumed as I stared at the starless sky above me. All of a sudden, the wind picked up. I trudged to the vehicle to stay dry from the oncoming storm. Not long after I had gotten in, it started pouring outside. The truck wasn't much coverage; I was soaked within fifteen minutes.
Boom! Screamed the sky as lighting sliced through the dense forest. I felt like crying. I was alone, tired, hungry, cold, wet, and the pain in my foot had no intention of leaving.
Snap! Lighting struck a nearby tree in half. My thoughts immediately turned to Brietta and dad. They are out there. They could be hurt, or a tree could have fallen down and...and... I couldn't even bear to think of it.
"Dear Lord," I prayed, bending my head low, "please protect Brietta and dad from this storm. Please keep them safe. I know that no matter what happens, it is Your divine plan. In Jesus name, amen."
The thunderstorm was still pouring buckets of rain on me, and my foot still hurt, but somehow I didn't feel sorry for myself anymore. I curled up into a tight ball and I was so exhausted that, within minutes, I quickly fell asleep.
***
How long have I been asleep? I wondered as I woke from my slumber. I noticed that the rain was now just a sprinkle. I poked my head out the window. It was still dark, but it was light enough for me to see some of my surroundings. A howl of wolves in the distance interrupted the silence. Fear raced through my body. Those wolves have to be at least ten miles away, I reassured myself, trying to quench my fear. The sound of movement in the woods made my hair stand on edge. Is it wolves? A bear? A hundred dangers went through my mind. My hands searched for some sort of weapon, but found none. I closed my eyes and thought of Psalm 23, the Lord is my Shepherd. And all my fear vanished. Filled with new courage, I opened my eyes, expecting to see a pack of wolves, but instead a wonderful sight adorned my eyes. Dad had recently emerged from the forest with Brietta in his arms and a man walking behind him, whom I'd never seen before. I limped toward dad as fast as I could. "This man is going to take us home!" Dad told me as I wrapped my arms around him.
Home, I thought, There's no place in the world I'd rather be right now.
Home, I thought, There's no place in the world I'd rather be right now.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
I hope to crack you up!
Q: Why don't you starve in a desert?
A: Because of all the 'sand-which-is' there.
Q: Why did the lady like to eat chocolate?
A: Because she was a coco-nut!
Q: What kind of keys do kids like to carry?
Q: What kind of keys do kids like to carry?
A: Cookies!
Q: What cheese is made backwards?
Q: What cheese is made backwards?
A: Edam.
Q: What's the best thing to put into a pie?
Q: What's the best thing to put into a pie?
A: Your teeth!
Q: "Waiter, this food tastes funny."
Q: "Waiter, this food tastes funny."
A: "Then why aren't you laughing?"
Q: Did you hear the joke about the peanut butter?
Q: Did you hear the joke about the peanut butter?
A: I'm not telling you. You might spread it!
Q: Why do the French eat snails?
Q: Why do the French eat snails?
A: Because they don't like fast food!
Q: "Waiter, will my pizza be long?"
Q: "Waiter, will my pizza be long?"
A: "No sir, it will be round."
Q: Why didn't the chicken cross the road?
Q: Why didn't the chicken cross the road?
A: Because there was a KFC on the other side!
Q: What is 'out of bounds'?
Q: What is 'out of bounds'?
A: An exhausted kangaroo.
Q: A detective could see a blue house made out of blue bricks and a red house made out of red bricks. Why couldn't he see a green house?
Q: A detective could see a blue house made out of blue bricks and a red house made out of red bricks. Why couldn't he see a green house?
A: Because it was made of glass!
Q: Why did the boy do his schoolwork in an airplane?
Q: Why did the boy do his schoolwork in an airplane?
A: Because he wanted to be in high school!
Q: Why are politicians in such good shape?
Q: Why are politicians in such good shape?
A: Because they're always running for office!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Sunday Morning Chronicle: Late Edition, vol. 1 no. 5
A randomized sampling of our Sunday(e?)s, with a dollop of whip cream and a Banana point of view.
Since Christmas we’ve seen an increase in the monkey (hat) population. A big white van pulled into our driveway at 10:30 a.m. sharp, and three hopped out. The fourth, a wee male, was transported indoors by his mommy. He was passed to me while shoes and coats were being removed, and, astonishingly, he was contented to remain clasped in my arms for a record of twenty minutes before he started fussing. I’ll win Wyatt over yet!
Charis assisted Pastor in locating scripture references. Twice she tapped a page and quietly exclaimed, “Right there!”
Charles somehow got the impression that we had a new ATV and kept inquiring about it. I don’t know what planet he was on, because we only own two ATVs.
Over lunch he confided that his ambition in life is to splice Barney the dinosaur into Jurassic Park footage and have Barney be killed.
When he pronounces my name, he is in the habit of dropping the ee sound at the beginning (represented by the “I”), distorting it into “Branna.” I’ve come to tolerate the lovingly-coined nickname “Banana,” but I draw the line at being equated with bran cereal. Yech!
In the context of a conversation on my retentiveness, he quipped that elephants never forget anything. Naturally I took offense.
Daniel, upon mention of the famous couple Romeo and Juliet, informed us that they appear in the book Huckleberry Fin.
He annoyed Charles by continually quoting Calvin & Hobbs comics that Charles had previously read.
Apparently the term “snail-mail” was unfamiliar to him, because, when I used it to describe the primary mode of communication betwixt my pen pal Emma and me, he asked if we dispatched our letters via carrier snails (as opposed to pigeons) and left slime trails. Interestingly, this led to a dialogue about spam mail and the concept of sending strangers anonymous missives containing slices of meat.
Samuel observed that a different ceiling fan was running, which picture frames had been moved, and how the living room furniture had been rearranged. Way to go, Samuel!
He found a lone foam dart (a remnant of the Christmas battle) in our basement and threw it at me. I of course retaliated by returning it in like fashion. After a few tosses, however, Charles griped that we were at risk of overturning the board game in progress, and then Mariah snatched the missile out of my hand.
Despite the constant interruptions, the two toddlers wrastling in my lap, and the din of voices intent on causing me to lose count (of which Charles was the principal agitator), I succeeded in setting up and explaining the rules of Homeschoolopoly. The game lasted approximately five hours, from afternoon till evening, and is to be continued. I happen to be in the lead.
Here are the grand totals:
Me (and my part-time teammate, Miriam)
Assets: one monopoly, three keys of knowledge, three vehicles
Cash balance: $2437
Charles
Assets: one monopoly, four stacks of books, one vehicle, two get-out-of-court-free cards
Cash balance: $1631
Joshua
Assets: two monopolies, seven stacks of books
Cash balance: $681
Mariah and Ema
Assets: two monopolies, four stacks of books
Cash balance: $566
Daniel
Assets: one monopoly, two keys of knowledge
Cash balance: $1472
Samuel
Assets: both utilities, two curricula
Cash balance: $348
(He is the closest to bankruptcy because he expended most of his funds in helping his fellow entrepreneurs out of jams.)
Towards the conclusion of our time together, I excused myself for a few minutes to get a drink of water and visit the restroom. When I rejoined the game, I was greeted with eerie silence. I glanced from face to face, wondering what was afoot. Then, slowly, everyone’s mouths began stretching into wide yawns, and Daniel commenced a tale about a person unable to quit yawning. The torture!!! It was a conspiracy devised by my sister Mariah, who is aware of my weakness. I am extremely susceptible to yawning. I cannot hear the word, read the word, write the word, or witness the muscular reflex without succumbing to it. (Yes, I’m yawning right now.) It is purely a psychological phenomenon.
Goodbyes were said reluctantly. Charis sang “London Bridge is Falling Down” as her father buttoned up her coat, and she incorporated our last name into the final stanza. Charles was instructed to start the van, so he was the first to exit, but he came back to fetch Wyatt. In all the hustle, he neglected to don his own coat (probably because his yellow hoodie provided sufficient protection from the cold). His mom predicted that he would eventually remember it was still hanging on our rack and would return to get it. During the delay, I deposited a handful of ice cubes in Charles’s coat pocket.
Since Christmas we’ve seen an increase in the monkey (hat) population. A big white van pulled into our driveway at 10:30 a.m. sharp, and three hopped out. The fourth, a wee male, was transported indoors by his mommy. He was passed to me while shoes and coats were being removed, and, astonishingly, he was contented to remain clasped in my arms for a record of twenty minutes before he started fussing. I’ll win Wyatt over yet!
Charis assisted Pastor in locating scripture references. Twice she tapped a page and quietly exclaimed, “Right there!”
Charles somehow got the impression that we had a new ATV and kept inquiring about it. I don’t know what planet he was on, because we only own two ATVs.
Over lunch he confided that his ambition in life is to splice Barney the dinosaur into Jurassic Park footage and have Barney be killed.
When he pronounces my name, he is in the habit of dropping the ee sound at the beginning (represented by the “I”), distorting it into “Branna.” I’ve come to tolerate the lovingly-coined nickname “Banana,” but I draw the line at being equated with bran cereal. Yech!
In the context of a conversation on my retentiveness, he quipped that elephants never forget anything. Naturally I took offense.
Daniel, upon mention of the famous couple Romeo and Juliet, informed us that they appear in the book Huckleberry Fin.
He annoyed Charles by continually quoting Calvin & Hobbs comics that Charles had previously read.
Apparently the term “snail-mail” was unfamiliar to him, because, when I used it to describe the primary mode of communication betwixt my pen pal Emma and me, he asked if we dispatched our letters via carrier snails (as opposed to pigeons) and left slime trails. Interestingly, this led to a dialogue about spam mail and the concept of sending strangers anonymous missives containing slices of meat.
Samuel observed that a different ceiling fan was running, which picture frames had been moved, and how the living room furniture had been rearranged. Way to go, Samuel!
He found a lone foam dart (a remnant of the Christmas battle) in our basement and threw it at me. I of course retaliated by returning it in like fashion. After a few tosses, however, Charles griped that we were at risk of overturning the board game in progress, and then Mariah snatched the missile out of my hand.
Despite the constant interruptions, the two toddlers wrastling in my lap, and the din of voices intent on causing me to lose count (of which Charles was the principal agitator), I succeeded in setting up and explaining the rules of Homeschoolopoly. The game lasted approximately five hours, from afternoon till evening, and is to be continued. I happen to be in the lead.
Here are the grand totals:
Me (and my part-time teammate, Miriam)
Assets: one monopoly, three keys of knowledge, three vehicles
Cash balance: $2437
Charles
Assets: one monopoly, four stacks of books, one vehicle, two get-out-of-court-free cards
Cash balance: $1631
Joshua
Assets: two monopolies, seven stacks of books
Cash balance: $681
Mariah and Ema
Assets: two monopolies, four stacks of books
Cash balance: $566
Daniel
Assets: one monopoly, two keys of knowledge
Cash balance: $1472
Samuel
Assets: both utilities, two curricula
Cash balance: $348
(He is the closest to bankruptcy because he expended most of his funds in helping his fellow entrepreneurs out of jams.)
Towards the conclusion of our time together, I excused myself for a few minutes to get a drink of water and visit the restroom. When I rejoined the game, I was greeted with eerie silence. I glanced from face to face, wondering what was afoot. Then, slowly, everyone’s mouths began stretching into wide yawns, and Daniel commenced a tale about a person unable to quit yawning. The torture!!! It was a conspiracy devised by my sister Mariah, who is aware of my weakness. I am extremely susceptible to yawning. I cannot hear the word, read the word, write the word, or witness the muscular reflex without succumbing to it. (Yes, I’m yawning right now.) It is purely a psychological phenomenon.
Goodbyes were said reluctantly. Charis sang “London Bridge is Falling Down” as her father buttoned up her coat, and she incorporated our last name into the final stanza. Charles was instructed to start the van, so he was the first to exit, but he came back to fetch Wyatt. In all the hustle, he neglected to don his own coat (probably because his yellow hoodie provided sufficient protection from the cold). His mom predicted that he would eventually remember it was still hanging on our rack and would return to get it. During the delay, I deposited a handful of ice cubes in Charles’s coat pocket.
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
church,
eyewitness account,
humor,
two cents
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Story of the Week: Alone in the Woods, Part 1
Crash! My stomach lurched as our truck rolled down the hill. I could hear the windows breaking and my three-year-old sister wailing.
"Are you kids OK?" my dad anxiously inquired from the front seat.
"I am, but I don't know about Brietta." She was curled up in a ball crying.
"Stay where you are. I'm going to see if I can get you two out without either of you stepping on that glass."
I looked at the floor. There were bits of glass stuck to the rugs and piles of glass on the left side, which was the way that the truck had landed. Dad managed to get us out safely.
I looked at the floor. There were bits of glass stuck to the rugs and piles of glass on the left side, which was the way that the truck had landed. Dad managed to get us out safely.
Now, how are we going to get home? We are in the middle of nowhere! I thought as I scanned the territory for some sign of life. All I could see for miles were trees, trees, and more trees. I noticed that Dad was dialing on his cell phone.
"Hello?" Dad hung up. "No signal," he informed me. I sighed. Mom wouldn't know to come look for us since she didn't expect us back from grandma's till tomorrow. Could this get any worse? But I knew the Lord put us in this situation for a reason and that He would take care of us. That thought gave me comfort.
"I'm hungry," complained Brietta, tugging on my sleeve. I turned to dad. "I think there are some leftovers from lunch in the truck. I'll see if I can get them." I walked over to the truck.
"Be careful," my dad warned. "I'm going to the other side of the hill to see if I can get better reception. Holler if you need me."
I opened the truck's door. Most of the glass dad had brushed to the side. I could get the food easily without hurting myself. Still, it would be hazardous for Brietta to come with me.
"Brietta, stay there, I'll be right back," I commanded her before I stepped into the vehicle. I looked through all the compartments.
"Aha! I found it!" I pulled the plastic bag of food out. "Want some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Brietta?" I hopped out, expecting an enthusiastic response. No reply. I looked around me; Brietta was nowhere in sight.
"Dad!" I yelled.
"What is it?" He ran over to me.
"It's Brietta. I went into the truck for a minute and now—and now she's GONE!"
For the next few minutes hollers of "Brietta!" pierced the silent air.
For the next few minutes hollers of "Brietta!" pierced the silent air.
"She must be too deep in the woods to hear us," Dad concluded. "I'm going into the forest to look for her. Stay here in case she comes back." He grabbed a few things from the truck and rushed off into the forest. I went through a routine of praying, checking the cell phone, praying, and checking the cell phone for the next few hours. I looked up into the sky to see that the sun was setting. I knew within a half an hour it would be dark. Weren't they ever coming back?
A few minutes later, I heard a noise. I saw a light coming down the road. "Help!" I cried at the top of my lungs as I planted my feet at the edge of the narrow, one-lane road. The car was rapidly approaching; by the time it was a few feet in front of me I realized that it wasn't going to stop.
...To be continued.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Monday Funnies
Q: What is the difference between a cat and a comma?
A: A cat has claws at the end of its paws. A comma is the pause at the end of a clause.
Q: What is the easiest way to swallow a door?
A: Bolt it.
Q: Why is "A" like twelve o'clock?
A: Because it is the middle of "day."
Q: What is that which you cannot hold ten minutes, although it is as light as a feather?
A: Your breath.
Q: When is a sailor not a sailor?
A: When he is a-board.
Q: When is an artist a dangerous person?
A: When his designs are bad.
Q: What is that which everybody has seen but will never see again?
A: Yesterday.
A: A cat has claws at the end of its paws. A comma is the pause at the end of a clause.
Q: What is the easiest way to swallow a door?
A: Bolt it.
Q: Why is "A" like twelve o'clock?
A: Because it is the middle of "day."
Q: What is that which you cannot hold ten minutes, although it is as light as a feather?
A: Your breath.
Q: When is a sailor not a sailor?
A: When he is a-board.
Q: Why is a city in Ireland likely to be the largest city in the world?
A: Because each year it is Dublin (doubling).
Q: Why is shoemaking the easiest of trades?
A: Because the shoes are always soled before they are made.
Q: Why is sympathy like blind man's bluff?
A: Because it is a fellow feeling for a fellow creature.
A: When his designs are bad.
Q: What is that which everybody has seen but will never see again?
A: Yesterday.
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
humor,
jokes
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Brianna's Favorite Story :p
There once was a girl that no matter what she did, she could not stop yawning. She held her breath for minutes, drank glassfuls of water, and was scared half to death by her sisters, but she still could not stop yawning. So she yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned, and yawned...are you yawning yet?
Tucked in drawer:
by Ema,
humor,
jokes,
naughtiness,
stories
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Did You Know?
...Hawaii's state fish is humuhumunukunukuapua'a. I hope I spelled that right!
...Nebraska has a huge porch swing. It can hold up to 24 children!
...An elephant's heart weighs about 50 pounds. That's half the weight of our dog!
...The world's tallest snowman was 133 feet! I wonder how long it took them to build it?
...The song "Jingle bells" was originally written for Thanksgiving. What do the lyrics to "Jingle Bells" have to do with Thanksgiving?
...90+ years ago, pink was a color for boys.
...The world isn't exactly a circle. Its rotation causes it to bulge some at the equator.
...If you lived in Scandinavia and your father's name was Ben, your last name would be either Bensdottir (Ben's daughter) or Bensson (Ben's son). And when a lady marries, her last name doesn't change.
...A peanut isn't a nut; it's a legume.
...I don't like mint.
...South Africans use different terms when they speak English, such as: china (good friend), globe (light bulb), howzit (hello), robot (traffic light), and slip-slops (flip-flops).
...The world's largest frog lives in Cameroon and Equatorial Guinea. It can grow to be 13 inches long!
...Oregon has the smallest park; it's only 2 feet!
...Every Christmas a post office in Santa Claus, Indiana gets thousands of letters addressed to Santa.
...Nebraska has a huge porch swing. It can hold up to 24 children!
...An elephant's heart weighs about 50 pounds. That's half the weight of our dog!
...The world's tallest snowman was 133 feet! I wonder how long it took them to build it?
...The song "Jingle bells" was originally written for Thanksgiving. What do the lyrics to "Jingle Bells" have to do with Thanksgiving?
...90+ years ago, pink was a color for boys.
...The world isn't exactly a circle. Its rotation causes it to bulge some at the equator.
...If you lived in Scandinavia and your father's name was Ben, your last name would be either Bensdottir (Ben's daughter) or Bensson (Ben's son). And when a lady marries, her last name doesn't change.
...A peanut isn't a nut; it's a legume.
...I don't like mint.
...South Africans use different terms when they speak English, such as: china (good friend), globe (light bulb), howzit (hello), robot (traffic light), and slip-slops (flip-flops).
...The world's largest frog lives in Cameroon and Equatorial Guinea. It can grow to be 13 inches long!
...Oregon has the smallest park; it's only 2 feet!
...Every Christmas a post office in Santa Claus, Indiana gets thousands of letters addressed to Santa.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Out With the Old and In With the New
A year ago I purposed to readorn my bedroom with a streamlined color palette. The idea struck me as we were out shopping one day. A bouquet of pale purple flowers on a table at Pier 1 caught my eye, and I thought, somewhat noncommittally, “How splendidly those would contrast with the backdrop of my aquamarine walls.”
Light bulb!
I suspect that dissatisfaction with my room’s décor, which was a mishmash of patterns, wood tones, and vibrant hues, had long been brewing. Once upon a time, I was attracted to bright, bold colors, but it is possible to become overwhelmed by too much of a good thing. I hadn’t drastically changed my bedchamber in a decade (besides rolling a fresh coat of paint on the walls and replacing bedding), and latterly I’d spent excessive hours locked in there, writing. So I revolted. I’d already begun to fall madly in love with lavender (the color, not the flower). I decided that my room needed a touch of feminine elegance.
However, my resolution proved tricky to accomplish.
It took me:
Am I ever relieved to be finished!
Now, without further ado...
Light bulb!
I suspect that dissatisfaction with my room’s décor, which was a mishmash of patterns, wood tones, and vibrant hues, had long been brewing. Once upon a time, I was attracted to bright, bold colors, but it is possible to become overwhelmed by too much of a good thing. I hadn’t drastically changed my bedchamber in a decade (besides rolling a fresh coat of paint on the walls and replacing bedding), and latterly I’d spent excessive hours locked in there, writing. So I revolted. I’d already begun to fall madly in love with lavender (the color, not the flower). I decided that my room needed a touch of feminine elegance.
However, my resolution proved tricky to accomplish.
It took me:
- Eight months of sifting through stores and websites to procure a solid quilt in the particular shade I fancied.
- Two more months to find coordinating curtains (and the panels I ended up ordering from Jcpenney aren’t a *perfect* match).
- Three months to amass the funds necessary to purchase supplies (my dad paid me to polish abstract pieces of metal).
- And ten days to put it all together.
Am I ever relieved to be finished!
Now, without further ado...
Before:
 |
| My pen pal Emma made me the ribbon board for my 19th birthday. I was sorry to remove it. |
After:
 |
| Sketches are courtesy of my talented BFF, Rachel. The large one is a likeness of Truffles, the Chesapeake Bay Retriever we had as a pet before Zookie. The portrait is me at age 15. |
In 2009, I designed a collage that features my favorite quotes pertaining to the writing profession. I updated and adjusted it when I refurbished my room. (I am not a fan/advocate of Randy Alcorn. I extracted a few of these quotes from the book, A Novel Idea, which several allegedly Christian authors contributed to, and the rest are from random sources. I realize that the two quotes in the bottom-left box probably don’t seem pertinent, but they apply to me personally and how I view the writing process.)
 |
| I collect these. |
 |
| A display of the special people in my life. Recognize anyone? |
Tucked in drawer:
by Brianna,
projects