A Family Meeting

It is has been almost a year since my last post, but here is a little essay/story for the holiday season. May you we never forget the "reason for the season" and may you, my dear reader, always "keep Christmas well."

A Family Meeting

I was shivering, more in fear than the coolness of the evening. The meal was set before us on the rooftop of our home and my family’s laughter and conversation were muffled by the thoughts swimming in my head. Joseph glanced at me with twinkling eyes and my stomach plummeted to my toes. I had waited as long as I could, but I would soon be showing and my family needed to hear it from me. I looked to my shaking hands and I cleared my throat. 

“Father, mother, Joseph,” I paused, “I-I have something to tell you.”

Everyone blinked back at me with quizzical brows furrowed. The words would not come! Fear kept my mouth shut and tears welled in my eyes. I trembled more violently. 

Lord, please, give me strength, I prayed. Help me to trust you.

“What is it you have to say, Mary?” My father inclined his head toward me, concerned. 

I met the eyes of my parents, siblings, and of the man I was supposed to marry. The things I would say next could sentence me to my death. “I have been visited by one of God’s messengers and he said I am to have a son.” I exhaled in relief, but realized instantly that I had not been clear.

They were skeptical of my story, but soon they were rejoicing. They seemed pleased by the news. I knew I still had one more thing to tell them.

“We must get you two married soon, then!” My father cried, thumping Joseph on the back.

“That is not necessary,” I was almost shouting. This could get me killed. The thought was terrifying, but I knew I had to tell them everything. My terror swelled within me. “Because, you see, I am already pregnant.”

The words were out. In spite of everyone’s sudden mood change and the expressions of shock and disbelief, a peace fell over me. I was amazed by the words that I had finally spoken aloud. They almost seemed more true than before. Thank you, Father. A prayer for endurance and continued faith went up just before my father leapt from his seat and roared in anger.

My mother was in tears. Joseph’s eyes were wide and his look of disgust was agonizing. My father was spluttering and spitting, though no audible sentences were coming out. My siblings all looked around, scared and unsure as to what would happen next. I waited.

“Who is the man?” my father growled. 

I lifted up a prayer for strength. Father, make them understand what I do not even fully comprehend. 

“There was no man,” I said. 

Joseph smacked the table. “We are not fools, Mary!” He cried out, angrily. 

“I told you I was visited by the Lord’s messenger! His servant said I was to have a son and now I am pregnant! It is by no man, it is -it’s-” I struggled to free the words from my lips. They seemed so strange, so unlikely. “It is a miracle of God that I am now with child.”

My mother did not look at me. My father’s eyes were wide with confusion and Joseph was shaking his head in disbelief. I pleaded with them with my eyes, but I knew of nothing else to say. Joseph left in a rage and my father led my mother back downstairs.

Help them understand, Lord. Please, help them. Give me strength for the future.  

I knew little of God’s great plan for the child in my womb. I was soon alone on the rooftop, contemplating the peace I still had in my heart. I placed my hand on my belly, and felt the tears spill over. They were not tears of sadness, and they did not come from thoughts of what would ensue with my family and my dear Joseph. They were tears of joy. They came from feelings of relief and peace and thankfulness. I realized then that no matter what happened I would have my Heavenly Father to lean on for strength. My faith and trust was in him for whatever my future held. 

Thank you, Father.

 

Image from The Nativity Story (2006)

Brace Face

I sink gingerly into the cold orthodontist’s chair, my body tense with anticipation. Staring at my folded arms and trying to keep my knees from bouncing, I shiver at the sound of drills and drains in the other room. My room is silent except for the wind shaking the trees outside the window. Different thoughts circulate in my mind, “I hope this doesn’t hurt. This should have been my choice! I’d rather have crooked teeth than these ridiculous metal brackets. I wonder if this will hurt…”

The clicking of the orthodontist’s shoes in the hallway near my room and he enters smiling, his perfect, straight teeth glinting in the fluorescent light. We engage in small talk as he moves around the room, gathering his supplies. Drawers slam shut and the clatter of the orthodontic tools on the tray startles me. My chair is slowly reclined and I am handed glasses as a light shines on my face. I taste plastic, chalky substances, and metal. The stainless steel grinds on my teeth as Dr. Raj glues each bracket in its place. Flinching and clutching the handles of the chair, I labor to keep still. The suction of my spit through the hose in my mouth whirs and whistles as I nearly gag. 

After what feels like hours, my chair is returned to its original position and I am staring at the dancing trees again. I can’t feel my teeth and my cheeks and jaw are sore, but a run over with my tongue tells me I am now a brace face. Mom comes back and pitifully grins at me, asking if I’d like a milkshake to ease the pain when we get home. I nod, resisting the urge to glare. That did hurt.

“You will thank us one day,” my mother reminds me, but the likelihood of that is small in the moment. 

For years I would wear those braces, resenting my parents' decision, but the moment the braces were taken off, I thanked my parents over and over again for my beautiful smile. This experience reminds me of the trials that come our way in life. James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Like the painful experience of braces, which shape teeth and make smiles beautiful and straight, trials are hard experiences that shape us and make us whole Christians, not lacking in anything. In the end, we will thank God for the chance to grow and change as well. 

Locked Down

This is another essay from my class. It is a narrative about the beginning of a turning point in my life; it's part of my testimony. 

       “Is he your boyfriend?” my dad asked. My heart sunk to my toes and I got a squeamish feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked at my feet, embarrassed and annoyed that I had made the mistake of not deleting a message from my secret boyfriend.

“Yes,” I mumbled, my face expressionless. Lying would only make it worse. I knew the rule of no dating and had blatantly disobeyed. The bigger issue would be that while all this was going on, I had pretended to be honoring the rules that I was breaking all along.

“How long?”

“Since November.”

“So, two months? Have you kissed him?”

I nodded, blushing at hearing those words from my dad. 

“Wow, and you acted like he was just a friend all along. You talked like it was just a crush. You played your mom and me, huh?”

I cringed at his words and could not answer. My mind raced as I tried to figure out the right thing to say while also trying to figure out just how angry my parents were.

“You don’t even seem to feel bad about it.”

“I don’t,” I replied matter-of-factly. I knew it was false. I felt guilty and I felt terrible for lying and sneaking around behind my parent’s back, but I did not want them to know that.

“Wow,” my dad said again.

Mom was crying at this point and dad was angry. After having me quit my job, drop out of the play I was in, my dad said, “You are now on lock down, which basically means you are on an intense grounding. Your mother and I cannot trust you, therefore you will stay in our sight at all times and are on our schedule now.”

I could feel new tears pooling in my eyes. This what not how I wanted things.

He continued, “If you want to run away-” 

“I’m so sorry I lied!” I cried, breaking down. “I don’t want to run away. I don’t want to leave you!”

“How long did you think you could hide this?” Asked my dad, quizzically.

“Longer than this,” I sobbed.

“Nothing stays in the dark forever, Andrea.” His hand was on my back now as the three of us sat on the sofa. “Everything comes out eventually. Everything is eventually brought to the light and then you have to face the consequences.”

I did not realize the truth of my dad’s statement that January night until later on in my “lock down.” It lasted for almost eight months. I spent the first few days in my room with only a bible, a journal, and a pen. Initially I was mad at my parents and bitter about my current situation, but soon I realized that the feeling of having my secrets revealed and out in the open was beautiful and freeing. I had begun the process of healing and rebuilding of my relationship with Christ and with my family. In the future I would point to my lock down as the one of the best things that ever happened to me.  

Christmas Day - A Descriptive Essay

I wrote this as a descriptive essay for my English Composition class. I hope you enjoy it!

I was awake before the sun and there was no trace of heaviness on my eyelids. Christmas morning had always come early for us kids. Anticipation having roused me from my slumber, I woke my cousin Kylie who lay beside me. We slipped on our socks and tiptoed across the cool concrete that was our Grandparent’s basement floor. Little cousins, brothers and sisters dozed at our feet, but after a few missteps were soon following us up the stairs.

The adults were still in bed, so we fidgeted on the thick carpet in the glow of the ornamented tree. Gifts glistened under its light and we craned our necks to see which ones had our names on them. The fireplace warmed us as we chatted aimlessly, awaiting the sound of parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents making their way down to the living room. 

 After what felt like hours, parents finally sat with hot coffee in their hands and sleep still in their eyes. The kids sat on the floor at Grandpa’s feet, and in an accent developed from a life in Southern Missouri and many a John Wayne movie, Grandpa read the Christmas story from Luke, as was tradition. The airy sound of Kenny G’s saxophone played “Silent Night” in the background as my dad prayed in a groggy voice and thanked God for the gift of Jesus Christ. I could feel the excited tension from Kylie beside me as the prayer came to a close.

“Amen” was the trigger word. For the next hour all that was heard was the high pitched voices of little kids as they groped for parcels with their names on them. Squeals bounced off the walls and green, red, and white paper littered the floor. Bows were placed affectionately on babies heads and ribbons were worn as necklaces. After every gift was opened and the last cry of delight rang in our ears, we waited patiently for our parents to open the boxes of dolls, toy cars, action figures, and tea party sets that would absorb the rest of our time.

The sun had finally risen when we sat down to breakfast casserole and chocolate milk. Scarfing down our meal, we fled the scene to avoid dish duty and played endlessly with our new toys.  Our uncles and parents enjoyed Christmas dinner the best. Honey ham and mashed potatoes with veggies and rolls accompanied the lively conversations and left us all feeling full to the brim and exhausted. Christmas afternoon was a time for snuggling on Grandpa’s lap with my stuffed animal of choice under my arm as we watched Christmas movies.

The feeling of dread was overwhelming as the magical day drew to an end. Leftovers were our dinner, and soon it was bedtime for us all. The toys would be packed into our suitcases and the alarms set for early morning so that we could get a head start on the way back home. Though the day was over, we all hugged each other knowing we would see each other again next year. 
The smells that wafted from the kitchen throughout the day, the light from the tree, sitting at Grandpa and Grandma’s feet, and the Christmas music playing in the background all make up the memory that is Christmas at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. Because after all, it was the place to be on Christmas Day!

 -Andrea

I Did Not Hear the Winds

I was not living in Joplin when the EF-5 tornado hit it on May 22nd, 2011. I moved there almost exactly a year later, and I had no special connection to anyone who was affected by the storm that year. Since then, though, I have made some amazing friends, many of whom were in the tornado. Because of the stories I've heard and the things I have seen, the anniversary of the tornado has a different relevance for me this year than it did last year. After everything I have heard about that day, I'm left remembering today.

Today, I thank God for his protection and provision during and since the storm for the people of Joplin. I thank Him for the healing that he continues to bring, and for the strength He instilled in these people. Joplin is an awesome city that got right back on its feet and began the process of recovery. I'm so proud to call it home now. The words to this poem have been on my heart as this two year anniversary approached.

I did not hear the winds.
I did not feel your fear.
I did not cry with all my friends.
I did not lose someone dear.

I can't relate to this town,
Like one who lived or lost.
I have no idea of the sound.
I was not left or tossed.

I was miles away at home.
My mother broke the news.
So I listened to the T.V drone,
And watched the rescue crews.

I've moved to this city now.
I've heard stories of that day.
Though I did not see the storm endowed,
I see where it made its way.

Two years since have come and gone,
And this town's now made of friends.
Today I'll remember and carry on,
Though I did not hear the winds.

-Andrea

Between God and His Children

When my friend first told me she hated her own appearance, I immediately replied, "You are just being silly. God loves you and He thinks you're beautiful. He made you beautiful! You should think that!" She did not tell me about how she hated herself anymore. Problem solved, right?

A couple of weeks ago, my dad and I were discussing some of the mistakes of my past. "They keep coming back as if to haunt me," I told him one night.

"It makes me wonder if you truly understand the role of God's love and forgiveness in your life. Still, nothing I can say can convince you to let go of your guilt, that is between you and God."

Whoa. That was not a response I had ever heard before. "Nothing I can say can convince you..." 

How often do we think that telling someone they are being ridiculous is helpful or encouraging? Why do we think we can provide some sort of comfort by making someone feel bad about personal struggles? What can be gained from saying to a friend, "You are being stupid," when they are hurting and truly believe the lies that Satan is feeding them? It is not like they want to feel this way. Nobody wants to be depressed about their self-image or about whether or not they are truly forgiven.  

I mentioned earlier about telling my friend she was being silly and how she did not tell me things like that anymore. Problem solved, right? She must have heard my words, believed them, and miraculously realized she was beautiful, right? Wrong.

In a recent conversation, now two years later, that same friend mentioned to me her struggle with self-image again. Before she went on, though, she said, "Please don't tell me I shouldn't feel this way. I know God thinks I'm beautiful and stuff, but the problem is, I have trouble believing it. Everyone keeps telling me that, and it doesn't help!"

This time I knew how to respond. "I wasn't going to say that," I told my friend. "Nothing I can say will convince you of your own beauty and self-worth. That is between you and God. That is a personal conversation and struggle that you will need to work through with Him. I will be here to support you when you need it, but I'm not going to tell you are stupid for feeling that way. I will pray for you, I will pray with you and I will be here to talk with you when you need me. I promise."

Guys, all I'm trying to say is that we need to quit trying to make people feel bad for their lack of self-value in attempts to convince them otherwise. Pray for them. Encourage them. Be there for them. But let God work in their hearts as only He can. Leave it between God and His children.

-Andrea

Heartstrings

Play my heartstrings, you of love.
Show my heart how to adore.
Play my heartstrings, you of grace.
Let the healing burst forth.
Play my heartstrings, you of mercy.
Don't contain what is made new.
Play my heartstrings, you of wisdom.
Ask me questions I don't know.
Play my heartstrings, you of power.
Move the weakness to your use.
Play my heartstrings, you of art.
Bring your colors to my mind.
Play my heartstrings, you of words.
Give me courage to speak in truth.
Play my heartstrings, you of security.
Hold your child in your arms.
Play my heartstrings, you of music.
Hear the melody in my voice.
Play my heartstrings, you of strength.
You are so worthy of what I cannot give.
Play my heartstrings, you of understanding.
And let not my praise be lacking.

-Andrea