you make beautiful things

I do not personally believe in writers block. There will always be something to write about, you just have to buckle down a little bit. Freshen up your routine a little and you'll most likely have some sort of inspiration hit you.

So, a couple days ago I did just that and I happened to take a drive down a road less traveled (by me at least). I had to go to my mothers work, the same elementary school I attended as a youngster, and the route that I had traveled nearly ever day for six years of my life was looked at in new eyes.

I quite honestly felt kinda old going through those back roads, but one of the most distinct things I can remember from my trips to Hartwood was the old African American man that used to stand on the side of the road at an intersection and just wave to people as the drove by.

I used to always be so worried for him because he really did look like he could keel over at any moment, also the back roads were not exactly the safest place to be. But at least once a week that man was out there with his big toothy grin waving at everybody.

I really will remember him always because of that litte bit of kindness he wished to share with the busy bee's lost in the bustle of their morning routines.

Pottermore

The only thing that I recollect from my second grade school year is that my teacher, Ms. Dixon, was very large and that she read the first Harry Potter aloud to us.

I also remember that I checked out the second in the series a few weeks afterwards and some know-it-all kid on my bus telling me my parents wouldn't want me to read it because of it's satanic themes and other such nonsense.

So, me being the good Christian daughter that I am, I came home and promptly hid the book under my pillow until the evening when I was "asleep" and could read in peace.

They didn't know about the pentagram hidden under the carpet either.

It wasn't until the fifth book came out that I too decided to come out of the closet and declare my Potter fanaticism. My parents weren't surprised in the least. It seems that I was not as sneaky as I had originally thought. 

They didn't mind of course. They knew that I wasn't going to hurl myself off a building with a broomstick and hope to fly, so they saw no harm in my reading the books. Just for the record, I'm very thankful of my parents for that.
Moving on.

With this final movie it all came to an end. There will be no more of the series. Or at least, there better not be, it would seriously cheapen the story. And there will be no more movies.

So of course I'm exceptionally sad about that; the finality of it all.

But the means to the end. Everything that was in between the beginning and the end made the finality worth it.

Jo brought so much life to three fictional adolescents and through that life, she in turn brought it to her readership. She made literature relavent to an age group and opened doors to the imagination that no one has since come close to touching.

She done good, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

a letter to henry purcell

Today I threw two dollars out the window.

I don't mean figuratively, as in I wasted two dollars on a trifling purchase, I mean literally.

There is a particularly long traffic light one usually has the pleasure of sitting at before they enter the mall complex. Because of it's advantageous proximity to parked and bored motorists, homeless folk tend to frequent the median and pull on peoples heart strings with various cardboard signs. 

Today on my way to the movies I happened to be sitting at this light, but found that there were no homeless people standing there begging. I was actually dissapointed. It was the first time that I had cash on me in a while and I wanted to just give it away!

But I found myself in a pickle with nobody to give it to!

So after a few frenzied seconds of debating with my friend and brother, I chucked two dollars out the window as I began to pull up.

It was quite honestly one of the most enjoyable things I've done all summer. Just to not feel chained to money!

I know the people behind me probably thought I was crazy. I had obviously thrown it. There could be almost no reason to think that I had accidently dropped it; my movements were far too defined. But even if I did look a little crazy I think it was probably worth it.

Maybe I am crazy for throwing cash out the window, but chances are somebody somewhere will find that money, even if it's not a homeless person who would have most likely stopped by shortly!

Those few bucks will make somebody somewhere smile and to me, that's all it should matter.

My favorite poem.

i carry your heart with me

i  carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-e.e  cummings

One page

Current location: Shade of a tree in the mountains.

I'm at a Fuge camp, which is more or less "church camp. (For lack of a better phrase)

I'm acting as a leader for for the first time, at the first camp I've ever attended (yes, I'm a deprived child) so it is two firsts rolled into one for me this week.

I really enjoy it though. I've learned much how to lead and to listen (the two are very closely related) and plenty about my own faith.

Each student is allowed to pick their own "tracks" which is more or less the activity you wish to do after lunch. There are actively based ones: volley ball, jewelry making, etc.) and then class room based ones (apologetics, world religions, prayer etc.)

The two that I ended up being placed in were peer ministry and why we believe what we believe. The second day upon walking into peer ministry I see a torn out page from the bible laying on the ground discarded.

At first I was ignored it sort of, though I did wonder how it came to be torn out of the bible, but made no real fuss. But I got bored a little and picked up the page to see which one it just happened to be.

It was a page out of James and I read it wondering how much a nonbeliever would learn from this singular page, and all that jazz.

Not much honestly, but then I thought about all the other countries in the world and how hard it is to grow in their faith because of restrictions placed on them in their government or their regional location.

I bet someone in that circumstance would have been overjoyed to come across a page of the bible like I did. Even if it did happen to be the genealogy of Abram or Lot!

They thirst so strongly for the word of god that they are content with so little. And yet, I with all my things am not content with all my different translations of the bible, and it's fancy cover and devotionals etc.

I just wish I had a thirst. I'm too passive in my faith. I feel like this week, with all the trials that I've faced and that I will continue to face, the bible studies and the worship, that passiveness will begin to be broken down and built back up into an active mindset.

Those are my prayers at least!

History in the making

I am a personal fan of history. It's just so awesome to me! A lot of people don't like it, and I suppose I can understand why they wouldn't. It's boring (or it's been presented to them in boring ways), they find it irrelevent to their lives; irrelevant to the world.

I find it interesting for two reasons. One being, I love to read. So I perceive history in a similar way; a story filled with characters with quirks and oddities (Nero was without a doubt up there in quirks), plot twists and climaxes.

Secondly, everything in the world, all the current events, are all reactions to past events. And those past events that caused the current eventes are merely reactions to events that occured even beore their own. And the cycle goes on and on and on until the dawn of time.

To fully understand the now we must understand why and how it all started. We can learn, maybe how not to handle a situation based upon history. We can learn which methods have already been used, refine them and make them our own.

(I feel like such a nerd writing this, but it's so true!)

You can also apply this love of history to an individual. When you understand a persons past you begin to understand why he may think one way and react the way he does. You can begin to have a better relationship with all around you if you only take a moment to consider, that yes, he has a past too.

I'm going to stop shoving my favorite subject down everyones throat now!

Some day soon

I'm writing this post in a composition notebook while sitting in through probably one of the biggest time waster of all my summer.

It's a "Student Development" class that is required by my community college.

I know it's necessary in the sense it's required, but one would think that after 12 years of schooling I'd been developed as a student enough! It's kinda one of those things where you're incessantly thinking "8 hours...8 hours of this drivel...and then another 8 hours tomorrow!" And then you want to just run out of the class room foaming from the mouth.

But! (and there is almost always a but!) that is just one view point!

I could, if I so wished, face this class with a more positive spin.

My complaining and surliness will not benefit me this weekend while I sit in an already uncomfortable desk. If
I sit here with a dour expression I may as well be pouring salt in the wound.

Cuz it ain't helpin'.

To college my friends.

Cheers.