I have finally come to grips with the fact that the Pistons lost game 7. It took me a while. A few tears, a couple shouts, several days of denial....but my dear sweet Pistons, your turn this year is over. You did well (off and on) and I'm proud of you.
In other news, Mom and Drewey are in the midst of their 2nd week in Honduras and I'm pretty sure they're doing fine. Mom's all over physical labor, and Drew can haul his oats when he needs to.
I got to spend yesterday with Jill, Corson, and Braden and that was a ton of fun. I am going to have as hard of a time leaving Corson as I did when Autumn left. They both were/are at that age where they know who I am now, but when displaced they're too young to remember. That hurts, because one of my favorite parts of life is when little kids learn who you are. When I go down to visit the Sharps, Connor remembers me, but Autumn only does from the last time I visited. So at least from moving down there, I'll gain that relationship back. But I'll lose my basketball-loving buddy. So when I come back and he's bigger he's not going to remember all of Drew's and my efforts to make sure he knew the starting lineup. It's a little sad for me.
But that's okay, because changes just need to take place sometimes. And change is good.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Collapsing Sandcastles.
Why can't I just be grateful for what I have? I have a job, a house that I don't have to pay for, I have food and clothes and parents who care for me. And so why do I need to move away so badly? Plans here in Oklahoma keep falling through and it's leaving me miserable. And I called my dad and he tried to explain to me that it's not my job to let people walk all over me and cancel things that I spend my own money on. And I don't know if I'm just being a sucker and letting my dad talk me out of things, or if I'm just being ungrateful and leaving for Oklahoma because it's what I want to do. But I've let myself be talked out of moving to Oklahoma since highschool. And every year I get a new opportunity that I let myself get talked out of to stay home. I really really really feel like I'm ready to move and I just want to start being idependant and things keep messing up. So should I just stay home again?
I'm so worn out. I don't know what to do. I just feel like I'm getting older and more tired the longer I stay at home and I'm getting worn out.
I just really don't know what to do.
If it was God's plan for me to be somewhere I'd know it, right? So how can I be so sure that I need to be in Oklahoma, but have everything blow up? How can I keep getting chances to come back every year, and when I finally decide to do it have it not work?
I'm so confused and frustrated, and frankly crushed.
I'm having a really difficult time discerning between parents who don't want to let go, and parents who aren't being supportive. I feel like it doesn't matter to them what I do with my life, as long as I'm living at home and helping out around the house as necessary.
I'm so worn out. I don't know what to do. I just feel like I'm getting older and more tired the longer I stay at home and I'm getting worn out.
I just really don't know what to do.
If it was God's plan for me to be somewhere I'd know it, right? So how can I be so sure that I need to be in Oklahoma, but have everything blow up? How can I keep getting chances to come back every year, and when I finally decide to do it have it not work?
I'm so confused and frustrated, and frankly crushed.
I'm having a really difficult time discerning between parents who don't want to let go, and parents who aren't being supportive. I feel like it doesn't matter to them what I do with my life, as long as I'm living at home and helping out around the house as necessary.
And if I never remember anything else my parents told me, I will always make sure I remember whose child I am.
Mom and Drew (and a bunch of other Livonia people) are in Honduras right now. They are safe, and pray that they continue to be!
Daddy's at home all alone, because I'm in Oklahoma, so I hope he doesn't get too lonely. Usually when my mom's away and I'm home he always wants to go do stuff. And when it's late and we can't really go do anything he sortof paces around. I'm in Oklahoma until Saturday, so I wonder what he's doing with himself! Mom always says "you are definitely your father's daughter," and so he's most likely staying up late for no reason and eating ice cream. Maybe eagerly waiting to watch the Pistons tomorrow night.
I'm in Oklahoma, trying to get more job interviews but things are proving tricky with loss of Kali's car (it died earlier today) and lack of returned phone calls from Principals asking me to make sure I notified them when I was in town. God's definitely got a plan, though, and I'll fall into it wherever I fit.
Daddy's at home all alone, because I'm in Oklahoma, so I hope he doesn't get too lonely. Usually when my mom's away and I'm home he always wants to go do stuff. And when it's late and we can't really go do anything he sortof paces around. I'm in Oklahoma until Saturday, so I wonder what he's doing with himself! Mom always says "you are definitely your father's daughter," and so he's most likely staying up late for no reason and eating ice cream. Maybe eagerly waiting to watch the Pistons tomorrow night.
I'm in Oklahoma, trying to get more job interviews but things are proving tricky with loss of Kali's car (it died earlier today) and lack of returned phone calls from Principals asking me to make sure I notified them when I was in town. God's definitely got a plan, though, and I'll fall into it wherever I fit.
Monday, June 20, 2005
PC is the latest trend.
Unfortunately it's completely un-PC.
The patient in room 7613 would like their medecine.
If you clearly know the gender of the patient, why would you just not use the correct pronoun so you can keep the singular identifier consistent with your pronoun?
Or there's
If your child needs to use their locker during classtime, know it's going to affect their citizenship grade.
It's like the teacher shortcut to a generic letter. UNfortunately, it's not "politically correct" to just select one or the other singular pronoun. And heaven forbid you have to write "his or her." That takes sooo much extra time! I've got an idea! Let's just send home a letter that's poorly written!
And there's the whole "we don't refer to black people as black people. It's not "politically correct." Well, what should we refer to them as? African American? Hmm, last time I checked, Africa isn't the only place where people have dark skin. And so what are white people then? Do we need to call them all Polish American? Because clearly Polish people are white. And therefore all white people must be Polish. SERIOUSLY, people, this is a problem. So when a black person is filling out a college application and it says to check the box for ethnic/racial makeup statistics and the options are "white," "African American," "Native American," "Asian," and "other" how accurate are the statistical makeup charts if the population is 5% Albanian, 35% Hatian-American, 5% African American, 5% Hispanic, 10% Asian, and 40% White and the school session begins and there's the same amount of black people as there are white? Oh, that 35% that you didn't know about are just "other" We only count African Americans in our statistics.
It's a problem that we try to avoid offending people by putting them into categories that sound a little more "professional" and sacrificing diversity and heritage at the same time. And with the "his/her" gender things, we're sacrificing our dignity as educated people. We learned how to make our subjects and pronouns agree in middle school, friends. Let's not sacrifice it just to save face (and keystrokes).
I guess I seem a little bitter, but I have a really hard time growing up sometimes being told that the Upper-Middle-Class White man is the enemy and is trying to take over the country. I will not be at fault for being white, and I will not be held accountable for people who might not be wealthy and just happen to be not white. That's not my fault. The best I can be is who God made me, and I will NEVER be told that it's not good enough. I'm sick of movie stars and other charity causes telling me what I need to do and who I need to give my money to. I'm sick of hearing speeches and reading articles about how the United States is a bully of a country and our President is a moron. I love my country, and I am blessed to be here. I love and support President Bush, even if he does or says something that I think maybe wasn't what I would do. What is the big deal with being politically correct, if it's not even living up to its name?
Politics and correctness sortof don't always go hand in hand. Politics is politics, unfortunately often correctness aside.
The patient in room 7613 would like their medecine.
If you clearly know the gender of the patient, why would you just not use the correct pronoun so you can keep the singular identifier consistent with your pronoun?
Or there's
If your child needs to use their locker during classtime, know it's going to affect their citizenship grade.
It's like the teacher shortcut to a generic letter. UNfortunately, it's not "politically correct" to just select one or the other singular pronoun. And heaven forbid you have to write "his or her." That takes sooo much extra time! I've got an idea! Let's just send home a letter that's poorly written!
And there's the whole "we don't refer to black people as black people. It's not "politically correct." Well, what should we refer to them as? African American? Hmm, last time I checked, Africa isn't the only place where people have dark skin. And so what are white people then? Do we need to call them all Polish American? Because clearly Polish people are white. And therefore all white people must be Polish. SERIOUSLY, people, this is a problem. So when a black person is filling out a college application and it says to check the box for ethnic/racial makeup statistics and the options are "white," "African American," "Native American," "Asian," and "other" how accurate are the statistical makeup charts if the population is 5% Albanian, 35% Hatian-American, 5% African American, 5% Hispanic, 10% Asian, and 40% White and the school session begins and there's the same amount of black people as there are white? Oh, that 35% that you didn't know about are just "other" We only count African Americans in our statistics.
It's a problem that we try to avoid offending people by putting them into categories that sound a little more "professional" and sacrificing diversity and heritage at the same time. And with the "his/her" gender things, we're sacrificing our dignity as educated people. We learned how to make our subjects and pronouns agree in middle school, friends. Let's not sacrifice it just to save face (and keystrokes).
I guess I seem a little bitter, but I have a really hard time growing up sometimes being told that the Upper-Middle-Class White man is the enemy and is trying to take over the country. I will not be at fault for being white, and I will not be held accountable for people who might not be wealthy and just happen to be not white. That's not my fault. The best I can be is who God made me, and I will NEVER be told that it's not good enough. I'm sick of movie stars and other charity causes telling me what I need to do and who I need to give my money to. I'm sick of hearing speeches and reading articles about how the United States is a bully of a country and our President is a moron. I love my country, and I am blessed to be here. I love and support President Bush, even if he does or says something that I think maybe wasn't what I would do. What is the big deal with being politically correct, if it's not even living up to its name?
Politics and correctness sortof don't always go hand in hand. Politics is politics, unfortunately often correctness aside.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Ah, the fond memories of childhood..
Remember when I used to dress Awesome?
You know, when I was the queen of style?
Even little kids wanted to dress like me?
Well, it's time to reveal my secret.
All of my fashion genius when I was younger is attributed to my dear seester, Kali.
My fashion Guru.
You know, when I was the queen of style?
Even little kids wanted to dress like me?
Well, it's time to reveal my secret.
All of my fashion genius when I was younger is attributed to my dear seester, Kali.
My fashion Guru.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
We'll all float on, good news is on the way.
I shouldn't post things about my mom, even if I don't understand why she does some things.
I know better than that.
I love my mother, and she's just as perfect as any other person out there. If not even just a tiny bit more.
I know better than that.
I love my mother, and she's just as perfect as any other person out there. If not even just a tiny bit more.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Don't you think it would be nice if you'd stop living life through your kids?
I really really don't understand why my mom just picks fights for no reason. And I really don't understand why she wakes up, gets out of bed, and comes downstairs just to do it. I guess it might make a little sense if it was about something like a messy room or not picking up after ourselves...but to wake up, stomp downstairs to yell at Drew for not telling her earlier that he forgot his colored pencils in his locker is a little unnecessary. Right?
I'm thinking...okay, so Drew's project isn't finished. He should have remembered his pencils so he could get it done early rather than finish it during class (which is designated for students to finish their projects, by the way). Maybe he should have been working on it earlier, so he could have found out earlier so maybe she could have gotten him more pencils? Is the principle she's trying to hang on to that he should have been working on it earlier? I guess that could make sense, but it hardly merits waking up, trudging downstairs and raising her voice. It's not her project anyway. It's his. If he doesn't get a good grade it's not a reflection on her--it's on him.
I guess I will never understand why it always seems to matter more to the parent than the student what the "grade" is. Parents don't seem to understand that it's not the grade that counts. It's the learning. If you slack and get a bad grade--suck it up. It's what you earned.
Parents get so caught up in whether or not their children will graduate with honors that many will even lie to get grades changed. I will say that students who want those honors will work for them. Effort doesn't go unnoticed. Unfortunately, forcing it upon your children doesn't make them want to try harder. And in many cases, when that success is acheived, the parents take the credit. I mean, it's great to have parents actively involved in their child's education, but seriously. Let your kids make their choices.
And for goodness sakes, don't feel like you've got to be in control so much that you wake up from sleep to go make sure your child realizes that You're the Parent.
We already know, thanks.
That's why we honor and obey even when you're not making sense.
We know.
You raised us well.
You don't have to remind us constantly that you're the boss while we sit and silently wait for you to finish.
That's why we take you shopping to get your input on clothes we wear.
That's why we smile and eat your meat loaf even though the very idea of a "meat loaf" is the most undesireable dish ever invented.
We love and respect you already.
We know you're older and wiser and have been through it all.
We know that you learned the hard way to not procrastinate.
We appreciate that you try very hard to not let us make similar mistakes that you did.
However, it's not going to keep us from making them.
I can't convince you that fried bologna with peanut butter is delicious, no matter how many times I've eaten and enjoyed it. You have to taste it for yourself or you'll never believe it.
In other news:
Go Pistons! :-D
Although I will say I get a little offended when they refer to Darko as the "Human Victory Cigar." That's unkind.
I'm thinking...okay, so Drew's project isn't finished. He should have remembered his pencils so he could get it done early rather than finish it during class (which is designated for students to finish their projects, by the way). Maybe he should have been working on it earlier, so he could have found out earlier so maybe she could have gotten him more pencils? Is the principle she's trying to hang on to that he should have been working on it earlier? I guess that could make sense, but it hardly merits waking up, trudging downstairs and raising her voice. It's not her project anyway. It's his. If he doesn't get a good grade it's not a reflection on her--it's on him.
I guess I will never understand why it always seems to matter more to the parent than the student what the "grade" is. Parents don't seem to understand that it's not the grade that counts. It's the learning. If you slack and get a bad grade--suck it up. It's what you earned.
Parents get so caught up in whether or not their children will graduate with honors that many will even lie to get grades changed. I will say that students who want those honors will work for them. Effort doesn't go unnoticed. Unfortunately, forcing it upon your children doesn't make them want to try harder. And in many cases, when that success is acheived, the parents take the credit. I mean, it's great to have parents actively involved in their child's education, but seriously. Let your kids make their choices.
And for goodness sakes, don't feel like you've got to be in control so much that you wake up from sleep to go make sure your child realizes that You're the Parent.
We already know, thanks.
That's why we honor and obey even when you're not making sense.
We know.
You raised us well.
You don't have to remind us constantly that you're the boss while we sit and silently wait for you to finish.
That's why we take you shopping to get your input on clothes we wear.
That's why we smile and eat your meat loaf even though the very idea of a "meat loaf" is the most undesireable dish ever invented.
We love and respect you already.
We know you're older and wiser and have been through it all.
We know that you learned the hard way to not procrastinate.
We appreciate that you try very hard to not let us make similar mistakes that you did.
However, it's not going to keep us from making them.
I can't convince you that fried bologna with peanut butter is delicious, no matter how many times I've eaten and enjoyed it. You have to taste it for yourself or you'll never believe it.
In other news:
Go Pistons! :-D
Although I will say I get a little offended when they refer to Darko as the "Human Victory Cigar." That's unkind.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Just keep the faith that your ship will come in
Dear Pistons,
You're killing me!
Love, Kari
in other news:
I was thinking about my dad on the drive home from the OK state of Oklahoma and as I'm quite sure many are aware that I admire my father quite. So I was remembering a time when he was pretty ticked at Kali, and it was the same day that our church was doing the sendoff for the seniors. The parents of the seniors write their child a letter and the elders read it. Dad was pretty ticked and didn't want to write the letter, but mom made him. And then at church, they decided that instead of having the elders read it, that they would make the parents read them. So my dad goes up to the front and starts reading. He starts out by saying that it was a difficult letter to write--for more reasons than one--and he read on. But I remember very distinctly his voice starting to break and his hands begin to shake. He stopped to take a breath, and read on. Slowly and broken, his eyes glistening. To date, this is the 2nd time I've ever seen my dad cry. Through the tears welling up in my own eyes I looked around at the rest of the people in the auditorium, and many of them were sniffling, wiping their noses, or unabashedly letting the tears fall.
So I was thinking about Jesus. And you know that one part in the Bible where it says that he wept? You know, over Lazarus? I was thinking about it today; and if the tears of just a normal man's heart breaking can bring an entire room full of people to feel just a shadow of that heartbreak, I wonder if entire towns and trees and mountains didn't fall to the ground when Jesus wept. Our Lord's heart was so broken that he wept, and I can't imagine how it would feel to just feel a shadow of it. It was hard enough to see my dad cry.
You're killing me!
Love, Kari
in other news:
I was thinking about my dad on the drive home from the OK state of Oklahoma and as I'm quite sure many are aware that I admire my father quite. So I was remembering a time when he was pretty ticked at Kali, and it was the same day that our church was doing the sendoff for the seniors. The parents of the seniors write their child a letter and the elders read it. Dad was pretty ticked and didn't want to write the letter, but mom made him. And then at church, they decided that instead of having the elders read it, that they would make the parents read them. So my dad goes up to the front and starts reading. He starts out by saying that it was a difficult letter to write--for more reasons than one--and he read on. But I remember very distinctly his voice starting to break and his hands begin to shake. He stopped to take a breath, and read on. Slowly and broken, his eyes glistening. To date, this is the 2nd time I've ever seen my dad cry. Through the tears welling up in my own eyes I looked around at the rest of the people in the auditorium, and many of them were sniffling, wiping their noses, or unabashedly letting the tears fall.
So I was thinking about Jesus. And you know that one part in the Bible where it says that he wept? You know, over Lazarus? I was thinking about it today; and if the tears of just a normal man's heart breaking can bring an entire room full of people to feel just a shadow of that heartbreak, I wonder if entire towns and trees and mountains didn't fall to the ground when Jesus wept. Our Lord's heart was so broken that he wept, and I can't imagine how it would feel to just feel a shadow of it. It was hard enough to see my dad cry.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Drop it like it's hot. And if it's a pancake, pick it up quick!
Wouldn't want to waste a precious pancake.
In other news:
I had my first job interview today. I interviewed for a 2nd grade teaching position in an "at risk" school in a suburb of Oklahoma City. The principal explained to me that 100% of the population of the school lives in poverty, and that the lives that the kids live at home are things that I wouldn't even be able to dream up. (Doesn't sound like very plesant dreams, nonetheless.) So the biggest part of me is so excited. I want to be a teacher to teach children. I want them to learn not just school things, but how to be good people in the world. I want them to want to come to school, and love reading and love math, and have adults in their lives that they can trust. I want them to have a teacher who isn't in it for the summer vacation--because that's not fair.
And then the logical part of me knows that I've grown up in upper-middle-class white suburbia, where the schools are all wealty. The schools are wealthy and the teachers still didn't always want to be there. What makes me think that when I have to spend hundreds of dollars on my own teaching materials, have 2nd graders calling me bad words all day and most significantly leave my comfort zone that I'll actually love my job enough to keep going back to it? I want to love my job soo much. That's why I want to teach. Because it's something that I could see myself doing every day until I'm like 70. I think there's a little part of me that is afraid that if I teach in a school where children are poorly behaved that I won't want to do it forever.
But the bigger part of me knows that God gave me this borderline-annoying enthusiasm because he needed me to use it. So I guess now we just sit back and wait for the decision--and hopefully more offers just in case.
In other news:
I had my first job interview today. I interviewed for a 2nd grade teaching position in an "at risk" school in a suburb of Oklahoma City. The principal explained to me that 100% of the population of the school lives in poverty, and that the lives that the kids live at home are things that I wouldn't even be able to dream up. (Doesn't sound like very plesant dreams, nonetheless.) So the biggest part of me is so excited. I want to be a teacher to teach children. I want them to learn not just school things, but how to be good people in the world. I want them to want to come to school, and love reading and love math, and have adults in their lives that they can trust. I want them to have a teacher who isn't in it for the summer vacation--because that's not fair.
And then the logical part of me knows that I've grown up in upper-middle-class white suburbia, where the schools are all wealty. The schools are wealthy and the teachers still didn't always want to be there. What makes me think that when I have to spend hundreds of dollars on my own teaching materials, have 2nd graders calling me bad words all day and most significantly leave my comfort zone that I'll actually love my job enough to keep going back to it? I want to love my job soo much. That's why I want to teach. Because it's something that I could see myself doing every day until I'm like 70. I think there's a little part of me that is afraid that if I teach in a school where children are poorly behaved that I won't want to do it forever.
But the bigger part of me knows that God gave me this borderline-annoying enthusiasm because he needed me to use it. So I guess now we just sit back and wait for the decision--and hopefully more offers just in case.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
It feels pretty soft to me.
If life's not beautiful without the pain, well than I would rather never ever even see beauty again
That's a line from a song that I really really like. And It's my favorite line. But I don't think I think like that. So why it's my favorite line of the song, I couldn't tell you.
I had a boyfriend once, when I was in high school and my first year of college. He didn't treat me terribly well sometimes. (In all fairness, I probably wasn't as nice as I should have been to him.) But last night I dreamed about him, and I don' t think I like it when that happens, becasue it sortof scares me that I dream about being happy with somebody who made me so sad for so long.
So I think that saying you'd rather never see beauty again if it meant that you wouldn't have any more pain is kindof like selling your soul to the Devil in a way. Like cutting a deal. Being pain free isn't a good deal, in my opinion. Because it kindof reminds me of being calloused.
So maybe if I gave up everything ever that was beautiful, only so I couldn't ever feel pain again I would probably be missing out on more than just being hurt. God is beautiful, and Love is beautiful. Grass and bears and cake and moms and babies. Those are all beauty. Can you imagine how dull your life would be i you couldn't feel anything? I imagine it would be pretty empty.
Maybe it's my favorite line because it reminds me that life is beautiful, and that pain is something we need to happen so we can keep the rest of our senses in tact.
That's a line from a song that I really really like. And It's my favorite line. But I don't think I think like that. So why it's my favorite line of the song, I couldn't tell you.
I had a boyfriend once, when I was in high school and my first year of college. He didn't treat me terribly well sometimes. (In all fairness, I probably wasn't as nice as I should have been to him.) But last night I dreamed about him, and I don' t think I like it when that happens, becasue it sortof scares me that I dream about being happy with somebody who made me so sad for so long.
So I think that saying you'd rather never see beauty again if it meant that you wouldn't have any more pain is kindof like selling your soul to the Devil in a way. Like cutting a deal. Being pain free isn't a good deal, in my opinion. Because it kindof reminds me of being calloused.
So maybe if I gave up everything ever that was beautiful, only so I couldn't ever feel pain again I would probably be missing out on more than just being hurt. God is beautiful, and Love is beautiful. Grass and bears and cake and moms and babies. Those are all beauty. Can you imagine how dull your life would be i you couldn't feel anything? I imagine it would be pretty empty.
Maybe it's my favorite line because it reminds me that life is beautiful, and that pain is something we need to happen so we can keep the rest of our senses in tact.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
On Stories
Every good once in a while, there is a book that I will read that will be written in such a lovely way that my heart burns with each word. There's this feeling I get sometimes when I read, and it litterally feels like my heart is melting in my chest, while pounding with such force that my breath is just taken away. Some authors just have a way with words, and eloquent speech that I can't help but hold my breath as I imagine the scene unfolding in my mind.
I'm working on writing a book called Index Card Stories and I can only hope that just one of them will make any reader feel this for just one second, because I think it is something that every writer should strive for, but very few actually achieve.
My two favorite authors who do this consistently well are Fyodor Dostoevsky and C.S. Lewis.
If you have never read anything by Fyodor Dostoevsky, I would encourage you to read The Heavenly Christmas Tree. If you don't know what I'm talking about with the heart stopping breath stealing literature, I feel like this might give you a taste of it. And if you'd like a big gulp, read The Brothers Karamazov. It is, by far, my very favorite book I've ever read. Ever.
And as for C.S. Lewis...I've read quite a bit of his writing, but the experience I remember most vividly is from The Magician's Nephew (The first in the Chronicles of Narnia). I think this is mostly because when Aslan is introduced, during the creation of Narnia, it talks about him just walking. Step by step, across the land, as it swelled up and burst out new life.
I don't know if I can explain this well, but I want you to try to close your eyes and sortof tense up your jaw, pushing your lower jaw and tongue up toward the roof of your mouth. It should make a "whoosh" sound that you can only hear in your head. Just a small swish, or if you will, like the sound of a footstep.
When I was very young (like 3 or 4 years old) I used to do this a lot, only I never realized that I was making that sound myself. And I would hide from it because I was sure that a lion was slowly walking down the hall with every swoosh sound I heart. Very rhythmic and smootly, walking closer and closer. And the more nervous I would get, the more tense I would become, and the louder the sound would be in my head. Which made me feel like the lion was coming closer with every step.
I'm not sure what made me grow out of this, or why I even thought it was a lion in the first place, but I grew out of it and lived a pretty normal childhood. No worries.
Anyway, so when I was 17 I started reading the Chronicles of Narnia, and the chapter where it introduces Aslan, and it describes him just walking--silently, closer and closer--filled me with so much peace. Mainly because I immediately made the parallel from Aslan to God. And I'd have to say that not many things can compare to the way I feel everytime I read the Creation Account of Narnia, because I can put myself there. I can hear the sounds, feal the fear and peace simultaneously and I love it.
I hope that every person has at least one book, or part of a book that will create that feeling. Because once you experience it, reading becomes an adventure. And from those adventures come our future authors.
I'm working on writing a book called Index Card Stories and I can only hope that just one of them will make any reader feel this for just one second, because I think it is something that every writer should strive for, but very few actually achieve.
My two favorite authors who do this consistently well are Fyodor Dostoevsky and C.S. Lewis.
If you have never read anything by Fyodor Dostoevsky, I would encourage you to read The Heavenly Christmas Tree. If you don't know what I'm talking about with the heart stopping breath stealing literature, I feel like this might give you a taste of it. And if you'd like a big gulp, read The Brothers Karamazov. It is, by far, my very favorite book I've ever read. Ever.
And as for C.S. Lewis...I've read quite a bit of his writing, but the experience I remember most vividly is from The Magician's Nephew (The first in the Chronicles of Narnia). I think this is mostly because when Aslan is introduced, during the creation of Narnia, it talks about him just walking. Step by step, across the land, as it swelled up and burst out new life.
I don't know if I can explain this well, but I want you to try to close your eyes and sortof tense up your jaw, pushing your lower jaw and tongue up toward the roof of your mouth. It should make a "whoosh" sound that you can only hear in your head. Just a small swish, or if you will, like the sound of a footstep.
When I was very young (like 3 or 4 years old) I used to do this a lot, only I never realized that I was making that sound myself. And I would hide from it because I was sure that a lion was slowly walking down the hall with every swoosh sound I heart. Very rhythmic and smootly, walking closer and closer. And the more nervous I would get, the more tense I would become, and the louder the sound would be in my head. Which made me feel like the lion was coming closer with every step.
I'm not sure what made me grow out of this, or why I even thought it was a lion in the first place, but I grew out of it and lived a pretty normal childhood. No worries.
Anyway, so when I was 17 I started reading the Chronicles of Narnia, and the chapter where it introduces Aslan, and it describes him just walking--silently, closer and closer--filled me with so much peace. Mainly because I immediately made the parallel from Aslan to God. And I'd have to say that not many things can compare to the way I feel everytime I read the Creation Account of Narnia, because I can put myself there. I can hear the sounds, feal the fear and peace simultaneously and I love it.
I hope that every person has at least one book, or part of a book that will create that feeling. Because once you experience it, reading becomes an adventure. And from those adventures come our future authors.
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