A Massive Endeavor

Dear blog readers,

I am asking for your prayers. My husband and I have started a rather massive endeavor and we can only succeed with the Lord's help.

We are writing down our story. Because it's rather incredible (naturally, being written by the Greatest Author ever.) We fully intend to publish it and share it with as many people as the Lord wills. True stories are too few and far between. True stories encourage with a raw transparency that novels cannot touch.

I can't tell you how nervous and excited and terrified I am to be doing this. I've never attempted something so meaningful, with so much potential for real impact on real people (which is really my main goal in life). So naturally I'm scared out of my wits, yet I know God is on my side because he put it in my heart to share. It's not about me at all, it's about God's redemption and healing.

I cannot wait to see how God uses his story. We are doing our part to write it down in all our feebleness. Please pray for memories to be strengthened as we are writing about things that happened 3-4 years ago. Pray that we would not become discouraged. Pray that the Lord would be preparing many hearts to receive this encouragement and that by reading what he has done, they would praise him and give him the glory he deserves!

That is all. Thank you!

This blog will continue

It's been almost a year since my last post on this blog. I half-regret that, and half don't. Here's why.

Let's pretend your sister has a baby. And you see her a lot (your sister, that is). To your eyes, you never really see the baby grow. If you look back at a picture from months ago, then you can see the growth, but otherwise you never notice it because you see the child so often.

Now imagine you also have an acquaintance that has a baby. You only see this acquaintance once or twice a year. When you see that baby 8 months later you can definitely see a difference!

So I liken this blog to the latter experience. Re-reading posts and analyzing has shown me how much I have changed. And you haven't seen that change. You are the acquaintance finally seeing my baby again. You may not notice the change then, until I begin writing on these topics again. 

Honestly, I don't know how often that will be. My life has changed a lot since my last "real life and not just philosophical" post. I've been married almost 1 1/2 years and started and ended things in my life.. in short I am a different person. Still Ariel. But a little more grown up perhaps.

For instance, my last post. The feminism-ish one. I'm not sure I'd agree with everything I said. The post is a bit narrow-minded, I am rather doing a straw man fallacy on the feminism argument (if you don't know what straw man is, look it up. People do it ALL. THE. TIME.) I still am technically "against" feminism but I've been learning to see things from more sides. I don't want to turn you off by sounding boastful - you already know all growth in me is because of the Lord - but it is something I am so thankful for. 

I never realized that I was narrow-minded. Now I look back and it's so plain as day. Being open-minded doesn't mean I agree with everything. Heavens. It means I don't shoot down everything that doesn't align with my opinions. I analyze it. I consider it. I try to understand it. I have another post brewing about this in detail so I won't go into too much detail.

Point is, I'm not ashamed of who I was but I am glad I have grown. Gosh though, now everywhere I look on the internet all I see is narrow minds. Even those whom might be considered "open-minded" (like agnostics or the world-peace folks) I have found are equally as closed as the legalistic. All people want to do is flaunt their opinion. Honestly, am I any different? I'd like to think so but I'm afraid it's a rather human tendency. Still, we can do our best to work at understanding things and make ourselves more intelligent than before. That is what I am aiming to do.

To close I would apologize for the very long hiatus, but I know most of you didn't even miss me. ;) Except you, my friend, you know who you are - who said "so, is your deep-thoughts blog over?" and spurred me into writing this post. 

As always, thank you for reading. Blessings!

The smudge

I know it's been an awfully long while. Lately I've been trying vainly to come up with a brilliant idea for a post. Nothing has come.

However today I ran across the words I wrote in my Beloved's valentine card earlier this year. I found them poignant and still very true. I apologize that it is yet another love-themed post, but I'm still a newlywed technically. Cut me some slack.

I didn't know there was a black

dot on the page. Until I touched it.

It smudged around the beautiful capital

S I had made. And not just once ... every

time I tried to fix it - yet another smudge

appeared. I was crushed. The card had already

taken longer than I had anticipated and I was just

starting to like its peculiarity. And now it's marred.

Flawed. How could I give it to you?                     

  Then it dawned on me. Stephen, you have touched me - 

and I you - in places of the soul that have never been seen.

Before, these small vices and imperfections were unnoticeable

little dots. But then you touched me. They were brought to light 

in unlovely ways. I've cried so much these past two months, because 

you have smeared my dots. I didn't want to see those flaws. 

I didn't  want you to know. I couldn't give you a flawed 

        bride. I had to be perfect for you.                                            

But I'm not.                

                                     And it is painful

for you - and me - to have to face these things. You

may think this is an exaggerated story, and not

one to be told on Valentines Day. But the

fact that you love me in spite of my

imperfections - that you love me

unconditionally - THAT is the

best gift I've ever been

given to me. Stephen,

That is true

love. 

Man and Wife

Greetings.

I'm MARRIED!

Isn't he handsome? Yes, I know I am ridiculously lucky. The greatest thing is that the handsomest part of him is his enormous heart.

It's been a whirlwind adjusting to married life - much different than either of us expected. Some things are easy, we adjust seamlessly. Others are hard. REALLY hard. And it takes time, and tears, to figure out. The best part of it is that we're not alone, we're in this together. So now, after a month of marriage, I find myself in awe of what the future holds. In one month we've been through so much and grown ever closer. What will one year - or fifty! - do to us?

I can't wait.

I'll leave you with a little something I wrote yesterday...

I sit here at work, thinking about his eyes. His deep, grateful eyes. So often they stare at me with something of a praise, an adoration. He considers himself the recipient of a grand gift that he is not worthy of. It's those eyes that look into me and melt any pride or selfishness that may have rested within me. Isn't it fascinating, that adoration from the beloved causes humility rather than vanity?

And there are other things I dwell on. The presence of him. Of when I snuggle against him: the presence of his jaw above me, shoulder beside me and chest beneath me. Together they make this stronghold, where no fear can penetrate. Then there is his warmth, the arms that wrap about me in love. So firmly, so gently. The soft tender kisses full of all beautiful things, warmth and light and passion and joy. 

Oh the quiet joy! It fills me as I sit here, at my computer, in a small cubicle in a cold commercial building filled with bored, listless people. I am in love. No longer is it the spring love, the eager anticipation and daydreaming. We have been satisfied; we are complete now. Our love is now the broad, gently rolling ocean, where once it was a playful splashing river. We have traded anticipation for fulfillment. Both beautiful, but the inevitable trade was in our favor. We have gained a sea of love - quieter, yes, but ever more deep. We have the boundless depths of each other to search through, some places jagged and rough, some gentle, and lovelier than we had dreamed.

These are the thoughts that fill my mind. They seem poetic, but we are ever so normal together. When I see him later today he will smile and I will kiss him. We will go grocery shopping and head home to plop our stuff on the table, read the mail and talk about our days. It all sounds so ordinary. But everyday life becomes a joy when it is permeated with love. No, I do not always choose to see that love. Sourness easily commandeers my attitude. 

But then I see those eyes. Deep, grateful, adoring. And I melt, falling into that warm ocean. There is no time, no room for complaints and pettiness. I dive in to explore the depths.

A Gift Given

I can't write poetry.
I can't ryhme. No matter how
hard
I
try
it all comes out like the corniest thing you've ever seen.
Like what you were forced to write
in middle school.

But I need to
somehow
express the glory that has been given to me.
I wanted to use a poem, but I failed
miserably
so I'm going to just tell you
not so fancy.
Just words.

Love
I'm still learning what it means
but it is
I'm afraid
too beautiful to grasp in a word.
It's more than wanting what's best for someone
more than wanting to be with them every moment
more than wanting them to succeed so badly
that you cry for them
hurt for them
cheer for them
pray for them and never stop
even when the happy feeling in your stomach that you always have
goes away
because they're not perfect.

Neither are you.

This is what I'm learning of love.
This is one of those things that together make up this glory I spoke of.
that I am allowed to experience the beauty and the hurt
of love
and that I am gifted with his love
and gifted with love for him.

And that is the beginning
because I have grown up in love.
These two dear individuals who have cared for me
for two decades
have hurt for me
cheered for me
prayed for me
And I have learned to do the same for them.

The world is so full of pain
twisted things
so full of envy and pride and greed and
hatred
especially for oneself
that love can rarely survive.
I know I am one of the few who have it
whole
and not twisted.
Not perfect
no.
But so pure.

Why me?
I have asked that question before
regarding anguish.
Why was it given to me?
Now I ask it
regarding
love.
Why was it given to me?
Why was the glory of love in it's blooming beauty
bestowed upon such a small
insignificant
normal
human
as
I.
Why.

I have no answer save this truth:

I am loved.

And that great Love that has chosen to give to me
more than I could ever deserve.
There is no explanation
save Love.

I now
rejoice
that my love
will keep blooming
as time goes on and on
moreso with every day with him
and oh!
that is too much for me to bear.

But I can't write poems.
And you are most likely
very tired
by this choppy bit of writing here.
So I will stop
and leave you with the great mystery
and glory.

It is worth pondering.

- Ariel J | January 2014

A Masterpiece

Josh was an incredible encourager. He wrote many uplifting things in his emails, but this portion is by far my favorite. It's dated January 12, 2012. 

______________________________________

You are a masterpiece that grows closer to completion every day.   You cannot expect to be finished overnight, and you cannot allow yourself to become discouraged when you don’t progress as fast as you think you should.  The Artist loves to watch every stroke of His brush add another dimension of depth and beauty, bringing you closer and closer to His perfect vision.  When the portrait of your life is complete, He will unlock the canvas from its easel, and hold it up:  “Ariel Jessica Strom, you are mine.”  And with that, He will add the finishing touch: His signature - written in His blood.  He will walk over to His wall and hang it up to admire its beauty and perfection.  At that moment, you will be standing there with Him, having finally realized that your entire life on earth was merely preparation for this moment, and the eternity to follow.

“I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”  ~Jesus

            Hold fast and draw near, Ariel.  Never let go of Him: close your eyes and dive.

______________________________________

Never pass up the opportunity to encourage someone. You never know how long your words might be remembered. He probably had no idea I would still cherish these words a year and a half after he wrote them. 

Encouragement is powerful. Use it.

Death: A Moment of Beauty

A year ago today, my family and I and a couple friends hiked Rainie Falls. Among those friends was a young man named Josh. None of us knew that May 5 was his last day on this earth. 

After Josh fell into that river, myself and many others felt a sense of an ending. A death, a hole, a sudden jolting stop. But for Josh, that fall was a beginning. A glorious beginning.

I don't want to think of it as the day he died. I want to think of May 5 as the day he finally became alive. That is why I wrote this. It is written from Josh's perspective -- a guess as to what it might have been like to die.

_____________________________

It all begins with the calming.

My adrenaline, my fear – all of the sensations that seemed so real when I fell into this river – fade away. Everything settles into a strange, quiet serenity. Almost as if time itself has ceased.
Until now I was praying half-consciously, but now I send intentional words into the silence: Lord, what is happening?

Understanding comes as peacefully as the stillness around me.

This is my last moment on earth.

I feel subdued, contented. I never knew it would be so peaceful to die.

The calm is broken by sudden elation. I am going to Heaven – I'm going to Jesus! The next moment my joy is jolted by panic. A thousand thoughts tumble through my mind – all of the things I haven't done, the things I haven't said... Wait – Lord – what about –

Come to me, my son.

Thrill pulsates through me. Did I just hear the voice of God? Did my King speak to me?

Without warning the faces of my parents flash in front of me. Wait! I want to hold on; I start reaching out, grasping for the familiarity of earth's consciousness. But Lord …

Joshua. Come home.

I let go.

Reality morphs. In a electrifying and indescribably beautiful moment, I die.

Light explodes in my mind. I shudder with joy as it flows through my veins, glowing, pulsing – my new heartbeat, my new pulse.

At the same time, I am aware of a deeply curious sensation. I am being lifted up…  out... out of the only reality I know. It's like I'm being turned inside out. Something is slipping off of me, as if an old, heavy, tattered coat that I never knew I was wearing. As the strangling burden releases me I realize what it is.

My sin.

Every struggle, every temptation, every misery over that old nature that continually tormented me – gone. Oh, Jesus, I will never sin again! God, thank you!

Freedom eclipses me. Freedom – so raw and intense I wonder that I can contain it. It is radiating out of me. Light is emanating from me, but not my own light. I know that. I am reflecting the Light of the Son of God.

Time doesn't matter anymore. Only one thing matters.

My entire being pours itself out in praise to my King. I can't bear to keep in such all-consuming joy. Most glorious of all, there is no struggle to find a way to convey my gratitude. It flows straight from my heart without pause, a stream of passionate adoration.

I am swept up in unspeakable ecstasy, with the knowledge I will be worshiping my God like this for an eternity to come.

Praise the Lord! It is finished. My soul has reached it's ultimate redemption. I am home.

I, Joshua Steven Eddy, died.

And now I am finally alive.

                                            _____________________________

Define: Courtship

Ladies and gentlemen, now that I am officially in a courtship, I thought I might try to clear up all of the confusion surrounding the word.

(it's from the movie Emma. And has nothing to do with the rest of the post really.)

courtship [ˈkɔːtʃɪp]

noun

        1. the act or art of seeking the affections of a woman; wooing
        2. the period during which such wooing takes place

        Cool. Sounds nice and old-fashioned. But this word has become so common among the homeschool subculture that it's lost its meaning altogether. When you hear a couple is “courting,” what does that mean? Arranged marriage for the 21^st century? Awkward dating with both parents watching constantly? Or just Christians doing the same bf/gf thing as everyone else – but with a reformed name?

        All those things may be named courtship, but to me, courtship is really only one thing: a relationship between a man and woman seeking to determine God's will in their future, while protecting each other and honoring their parents. It's really about the principles, because every courtship is different.

        When my sister started a courtship, it was new ground for us. Sure, we'd read tons of books about courting and watched sermons about purity – goodness, we'd even listen to long tapes during car trips on the topic – but then we would hear “every courtship is different,” leaving us basically on our own to create this thing called courtship for our own family.

        Thank goodness.

        We thought the rules applied to everyone. Rules about timing, stages, and even as specific as physical boundaries. But we learned that the most important thing about courtship is that it is very different for every couple. Everything is different because the people are different.

        Some last a couple months, some a couple years. Some involve heavy parental oversight, some little. Some couples know each other for years before-hand, while some hardly at all when the courtship begins.

        I cannot place enough importance on being willing to make adjustments to your picture of the “perfect courtship” because of your situation. It's really okay! Still there are basic essentials. Here are the basic Principles of courtship. (I capitalized the P because the 3 essentials start with Ps... clever, I know...)

1. Purposeful intent
2. Purity valued
3. Parental involvement

        So first, purposeful intent. This is mostly to shield against the culture-condoned practice of dating for fun, or to “just get to know” without serious interest in marriage. Because this is done in a environment that promotes romantic feelings, the fear is that it leads to emotional attachment (which is usually true) and then to heartbreak. Yes, we know heartbreak isn't the end of the world, and it can be a great growth process, but it's generally way more efficient to get to know people outside of a romantic context. A courtship is always looking toward marriage as a hopeful goal. (Not a definite goal. That's called “engagement.” And yes, that was sarcastic.)

        Purposeful also means you wait until the young people are ready to begin a courtship. It is not an easy out for two infatuated young people to have a romantic relationship even though they're not anywhere near marriage – but oh, it's okay because we're courting. Shall I quote Song of Solomon? Don't start things until the two people are ready for things to be started.

        I tend to put prominence on maturity. Yes, a job is important; yes, knowledge of house-keeping is important; but knowing how to sacrifice and be vulnerable and being ready to enter the extremely hard puzzle that marriage is: this is most crucial. At least to me.

        Now, with each of these principles, some people go overboard. For instance: Waiting until they're ready, to some people, means the man must already be ready to support a wife and three children before he asks to court anyone. (I only exaggerated a little, actually. Sadly.) While financial stability is important, it may not be a reason for delaying courtship. Neither may age be. Usually, a courtship of two 17-year-olds isn't the wisest thing, but sometimes it works! It is different for everyone. I know of a couple who had a long but blessed courtship that began when they were about that age. They are married now and so glad they could do all of those years of growing side by side. It definitely does not work for everyone, but don't rule it out as impossible. Please.

        Now on to number 2. Purity valued. Purity is probably the most enormous focus in courtship talks/books. It doesn't just mean physical. Emotional purity is one of the most-talked-about topics for young women. "Emotional purity" actually isn't the best wording (discretion would be better) because it implies it is something that can be lost and never regained (more on that later). But emotional discretion is really important, especially for girls, and especially when they're young. Do not be reckless with your love, or foolish with your thoughts. Remember, the heart determines the course of the life. (Psalm 4:23, NLT) And as far as physical purity, God commands it.

        Now, how some go overboard. Does it surprise you that the day I realized kissing before marriage isn't a sin was not very long ago? Okay, it's not as if I consciously thought it was, but my subculture so valued “saving” your kiss for your wedding day that I was secretly judging anyone who didn't. Until I realized it wasn't actually any kind of moral failing – it was just a wise idea. First kiss at the altar is a very good idea for keeping physical purity. But please remember that it's not a sin to decide not to. (Decide being an important word. “It just happened” when you planned to save it for the big day is a different issue. Set your boundaries and keep them.)

        And on the emotional side of things... oh boy. Ladies, please hear me out. If you fall in love with a man, and end up not marrying him, it is okay. It will not make you less pure, leaving you partially defiled on your wedding day. You do not leave a part of your heart with that first man that you can never give to your husband. Yes, you might always remember him, perhaps with regret – but no matter how many times you fall in love, you will always have all your heart to give your true love.

        I say this not to encourage you to fall in love, but to hearten those who have done so, wisely or not. Too much pressure on guarding your heart will make you afraid of taking the steps needed to create that deep relationship vital in a courtship. I am writing a post about my own experience facing that choice of vulnerability, and what I discovered about keeping my heart in a courtship. Stay tuned for that.        

        So that's all I can say for now without being utterly-way-too-long. Guarding your heart is good, very good, but please don't take it overboard. It's damaging to your relationship with your future husband.

        Last but not least, number 3: Parental involvement. This is probably the principle you will have the hardest time finding in the dating world. In fact, you don't even find it much in engagement. But courtshipers (I think I made up that word) find it very important. Basically, this includes the woman's father “checking out” the young man, setting boundaries for the courtship, and just being involved in the whole process.

        I love this. I really love it. First, it gives the father the honor he deserves. Second, it deepens and strengthens relationships between parent and child, as you talk openly about this very personal issue. And third, O young ones, your parents aren't perfect, but they've got some great advice. They've been through this. While you may feel like you know way more about this situation, take a humility pill and realize that you've got a lot to learn. Besides, you're probably not quite in your right mind as there is some amazing person interested in you. Just sayin'.

        And the best part about giving your parents authority in your relationship is that they just might hand it back. Say hello to the power of trust. This has been one of the biggest blessings in my own courtship. My man and I have been given a lot of trust in some areas, and as a result, we have an even greater desire to prove trustworthy! There is an incredible empowerment that comes with being trusted, and it is a great maturity-builder for young adults who may or may not deserve it, but will strive to earn it.

        How do some go overboard with this? By making the rules too strict. By closing the gate too tight. By not trusting the couple enough, so that they jump over the gate, because they felt it would never open. Enough said.

        Also,  it is difficult to say what the level of authority a father should have on rejecting a suitor. This is one I can't say a black and white answer on, because the situation is always different.

        However, in almost every situation I can say that is very important to give the couple time alone. I used to think in courtship, there was always someone right there, watching and listening. Wow. What a way to develop a relationship. In all seriousness, third wheels are great – but to have a truly real and deep relationship, some things must be between 2 people only, and not shared with the parents or anyone else. That is the nature of relationships, and especially one as intimate as this one is meant to become.

      ...Please forgive me, I'm going to say just a little bit more about rules (even though I said "Enough said.") Don't misunderstand me - rules are wonderful things. They can often be legalistic or too harsh, but in general they are great. My whole life, we always had the rule: "No riding in the car alone with a guy." Even when neither of us were remotely interested in each other and it was just for convenience - it didn't matter. We had a rule, and we kept it. Did this get annoying sometimes? Yes. Did it hurt me? No. Really, it's okay to put up with rules that don't always make sense. Better to be safe than sorry.

        So those are the 3 principles that I believe make courtship different from dating. Before I'm finished though, I must state something rather important. And that is this: dating can be God-glorifying.

        This should be obvious, but to those in my circle, it's not. People, listen: Dating couples actually aren't stupid. (Gasp!) They oftentimes date with purpose, and in some form or other, value purity. It's true. And on the other hand, some don't. Those types are so scandalous that we decide all dating is like that and therefore “bad.” It is unfortunately common to find pro-courtship-ers making generalizations about daters, because the large percentage of them are all one way. Check out this quote from Stacey McDonald.

        “Dating is random, while courtship is deliberate; in dating, the goal is romance, while with courtship, the goal is marriage; dating leaves the couple unprotected, while courtship protects the young couple; dating is an unnatural setting of perpetual recreation, but courtship creates a natural setting of real life and family...”

        Do you see the stereotyping? Courting couples can be very unprotected if they make unwise choices, while dating couples can choose to put up boundaries for themselves. It's about the principles, not the name. Let me say it again. It is the principles within the relationship that determine whether it glorifies God or not. Dating can be totally fine.

        And what do I mean by “dating?” Going on dates. Spending time one-on-one developing a deeper relationship. Doing fun things together. Doing hard things together. Dating doesn't have to equal fornication and broken hearts. Just as courtship doesn't have to equal purity and protection. Whichever way you go, if you make the Bible the core of your relationship's principles, you're good to go. It's okay to do things different than the next guy. It really is.

        Thanks for reading. Sorry this ended up so long, but hopefully it's been somewhat helpful. Go date/court to the glory of God!

So far at 8,775 hits...

Well, folks, it just so happens that I read this great book, How to Choose a Husband, and wrote a review on it. It just so happens that my father works for WND.com, who published the book, so my review got posted on the site. Score!

Check it out.... HERE.

Rest

Engulfed by night, we raised our voice,

"The sun will rise; it has no choice!

God's strength is ours. We must prevail!

His love and power cannot fail."

We clung to hope, and still we wait –

For at His voice, the storms abate.

Press on! Recall His faithfulness.

The sun will rise; You will find rest.

-me, 11.1.12

The Path

That is what I will call it.

The Path stands before us humans. It leads through dark, light, beautiful, murky, sharp, smooth, difficult and serene. This path has been written about so much that everyone is sure they know it by heart. But they are all wrong. It is much, much harder and much more beautiful than they think.

Some approach it with much caution. Perhaps too much, because they are afraid. They are afraid of injury. They are afraid to put all of their energy into climbing up the hills because the view at the top just might not be worth it. Worst of all, they could fall, and then be both injured and greatly drained of precious energy.
Some of these mask their fear with piety. They claim that those rough cliffs and steep ravines and raging rivers don't need to be traversed through at all. "After all," they say, "only the fool-hardy would rush into un-needed dangers such as these."
How blind they are. Do they expect the hills to just level out for them? Yet deep down inside, they have just as much fear as those who don't mask it.

Before you scorn these people altogether, let me tell you that they are right to be wary of the danger. Their caution is good, for they could very well be deeply wounded. Their mistake lies in their conclusion about the danger - whatever is on the other side is not worth the risk of getting there.

So let us see what these fearful people do. Before they even take a step, they take account of the risks and purpose to avoid them. Then they begin, walking along delicately, not wanting their feet to get dirty. At the first sign of a danger, they stop. "I could be injured badly," they say, "Therefore, I will be wise and guard my life."

Therefore, they do not live. They miss the excitement of getting dirty, fording the river and trekking up the hill to see the majestic mountain peaks and rambling meadows and deep dark forests. They miss the pain and sorrow of injury, but they gain the sorrow of never having seen anything. They do not die, but they do not live.

So they turn around, walk back and look for another path which they hope will not hold these dangers. But they will not find that. You cannot see anything beautiful without risk. So they will either continue searching forever, in an endless, fruitless circle... or become so frustrated that they bitterly give up ... or finally realize that perhaps, after all, the risk might be worth it.

Then there are other types.
There are the sort who are bold and wild and reckless. They are afraid of nothing. They run along the path, tripping and scraping themselves up - oh, but it is so worth it! They feel everything to the fullest. They dive headlong into the stream, they climb the rugged cliff with abandon -

And they fall.

Suddenly they are broken and in pain. Their energy is spent. They can hardly walk on their injured legs. Angry and sorrowful, they crawl into a little cave to mourn their loss. And they will either sit their forever, just as bitter as the meek ones... or they will one day raise their head, stand on their shaky legs, and find the courage to enter the world again.

These wild ones were wounded before they had hardly seen anything. Why? Because they were afraid of nothing. The dangers were real and they disregarded that fact for the sheer thrill. Therefore, they did live - but the constant pain they now endure was not worth the short amount of freedom and abandon.

So what are we to conclude? Both types are unwise in different ways. Therefore, let us follow the meek one, who is slowly becoming more courageous - who decides to take a risk after all - or, if you'd like, the bold broken one who is finally ready to attempt the journey again, though with much more care.

They approach a river. It is rushing, fast. The meek one feels herself start to tremble. Can she really do this? Yes, she must, if she can find a way. The bold one easily pictures himself jumping in like he would've done before... but no, he must think this through.
So they walk along the path until they find a place where it narrows. Here, with a very big jump, one could make it across. It is not entirely safe; no that it can never be. But it is considerably wiser, realizes the bold one, than trying to jump across where he was before. It simply took a little longer walk. No, it was still a risk, but one that could be accomplished.

The meek one whispers a prayer. The bold one backs up to get a running start. And then they jump.

The bold one stands panting, on the other side. He is a bit scratched, but he doesn't notice. The thrill of the jump washes over him and he grins. Then he turns and jogs through the forest, which is becoming more and more beautiful with every step.
The meek one stands slowly, in awe. Was that all? Yes, it was frightening... but now it was over, and look. Look at the beautiful golden forest ahead of her. Tears rise to her eyes as she realizes she's finally where she's always dreamed of being. It was so worth the risk.
And as for the bold one... he too is taking a moment to take it all in. It breathtakingly gorgeous - so much moreso than the quick glances he got at beauty during his former days of rashness. It was worth the caution.

And so the tale ends. Not with perfection, but with resolve. The path continues. More wounds, challenges and sweeping sights wait for the travelers. But they are ready now. With God's help, they are ready.

The path is not for the faint of heart. Neither is it for the reckless.

It is for those who note the risk, say a prayer, and take it on. With fear, perhaps, but with determination and wisdom. And there lies is a thrill you can't afford to miss.

Trust me.

Swallowed up in Life

"Hello, this is Ariel being random. It's July 14, on the roof again. Only this time I'm watching the most incredible sunrise. WOW. I don't even want to look down at this page.

There's golden light, magical, glowing, thick around around the mountain where the sun is peaking. As I look around, I see it creeping onto various places, graciously sharing its glory. A leaf here, a branch there, a fence, a chimney - all bathed in miraculous gold light.

Oh! It has reached me. Now I can hardly look at the sun! Hmm. I just closed my eyes, and imagined being wrapped up in the sun's rays. Taking it on as my own, letting it encompass me in its magnificence, and warmth... being swallowed up by beauty, light and joy... yet not losing myself. Only becoming more myself. Taking the beaming light as my own, yet never diminishing the source. What a glorious thought! 

And all the more thrilling when I think that this will truly happen to me! I can hardly wait, but it feels like I will have to wait a lifetime until that happens. Perhaps I will, but yet one of my dear friends has already experienced it! What glory. What a wordlessly overwhelming, passionate, exhilarating experience. Thank you, Jesus, for making it mine! How blessed I am, how undeserving. To be swallowed up in Life... I shall yearn for the day all my life."

...

"For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. ² For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, ³ if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. ⁴ For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life." (2 Cor 5:1-4)

Oh glorious day ... what more can I say? 

Photo by Anne Mikael Photography

Why

One Word
a poem by Ariel J
5.21.12

I ask one word
Why

Why do we train
Why do we learn and earn
Why do we plan and hope and dream

Why
    when we come to the point in time
    where something so unthinkable has happened
    that it make us wonder why we did these things

Why –
I will tell you

We assume
Oh, we assume so much
We assume that things will go on
We look at the past
    and expect the future to reflect it
    because so often it does
And so we plan
So we train and earn and plan and dream
We do what seems best
    as if life will continue the way we think it will
    the way it always has
    the way we want it to
    the way it should
    – should according to our hearts

And then we are mocked
    ripped apart
    broken
    buried
The future does not reflect the past
    not even a bit
    but muddies even our dimmest reflection
Life does not continue the way we think it will
    but the way it has not been
    the way we don't want it to
    the way it shouldn't
    – shouldn't according to our hearts

Then we wonder why we trained
    and earned and planned and dreamed
    when diligent training is mocked
    and protected earnings ripped apart
    and anticipated plans broken
    and precious dreams buried

That is the point in time that makes us wonder
    why

And next we wonder
    if we were wrong to assume
Was it wrong to think life would go on the way it always has been
Was it useless to train and earn and plan and dream

I believe the answer is
No

It was not wrong
It was what we thought was best
It was how we knew to live
It was how God made us
Because often
    our training is not useless
    and our earnings turns for good
    and our plans finally happen
    and our dreams come true

But not always
Which is why we must assume
    but must also be careful
To never take for granted
    too much
To know that whatever we train and earn and plan and dream
    is unto the Lord
    and whatever he decides to do with it
    is good

And so we live on
Hurt but not fatally
Bleeding but not dead
    just barely
We live on
    with greater knowledge of pain
    and grace
We live on
    with new appreciation
    and new emptiness
    and new joy
    and a new self
We live on
    perhaps a little more careful and cautious
    in our training and earning and planning and dreaming
    but still doing them all the same
    because that is how we are made

Time to time we ask
Why
And the response is
I am God
    I do what I will
He does not answer
He does not need to
For he is indeed
    God

So we live on
    and one day
    die
And coming into eternity
    and great
    beautiful
    glorious
    joy –
    yes, the face of God
    we finally see why he made us
    to assume
We finally see why
    we trained and earned and planned and dreamed
    when it seemed to be mocked
    ripped apart
    broken and buried
We see that it was not useless
It was simply that part of the story
    that's twist is revealed in a later chapter

And we stop asking
Why
Rather our one word
    is turned to two

Thank you

In honor of the Titanic

Here is a story I wrote last December. I could say much about the Titanic, but I'll let this say it for me.

A Noble Death

by Ariel J

When I first stepped onto the Titanic, I felt safe. She was huge and incredibly strong, possessing a sort of noble grandeur that just made me trust her.

But now that she's been stabbed with a knife of ice – now that her chandeliers smash against the gilded walls, shattering glass into a million pieces – now that she tips at an unnatural angle, hopelessly surrendering to the freezing ocean in this battle of power...

Her grandeur mocks her – and mocks her trusting passengers who scramble over this ship like so many mice, clinging to life with what little strength we have.

God, help me. Help us!

The words keep repeating in my head. There's nothing else to do when a dark, silent night of peace transforms into an brutal nightmare – when all a boy can hear is screams of death and fear rushing out of the throats of hundreds who realize that their mortal lives are about to end...

As is mine.

I hate the tendril of fear that snakes through my body at the thought. I am not afraid to die. I'm not. I never have been, but... I always thought I'd die in some noble manner. Not helpless, desperate, unprepared.

As chilling wind whips my at me, I glare at the black sky and force my dry throat to swallow. The deck wall behind me is icy, but I press my back into it anyway, staying out of the stampede of terrified souls until Mama comes. If she comes. The knot in my stomach twists.

In my mind's eye I can see the water flooding our little room, Mama's curly hair sticking to her damp face, her blue, sad eyes lit by the ghastly flicker of the electric lights. I hear her urgent voice. “Bara gå, Viktor! Jag följer snart!”

“I'll follow soon.” There can only be one reason why she isn't here yet, but I can't accept it. Mama can't die.

I can feel the startling warmth of a tear as it rolls down my frosty cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my teeth. Crying at thirteen years old – how childish of me! But Mama can't die, not now. It's not fair. She worked so hard, for years, so we could be on this ship right now, to America. Because we will find a better life there, Mama and I. A new start.

My eyes snap open. I try to see to the black water through the endless rush of people disjointedly flowing across the deck. Is it all going to end tonight? Our hopes, our dreams?

In the blur of panic, two particular humans capture my attention, strangely still among the choas. An older man, kneeling, in a white coat and white hat – the captain? – holds out a life-vest to a little girl whose hair is tucked into a knot atop her head. A first-class little girl.

Jealousy clutches me. What has she done to deserve that thick, warm coat? And that porcelain doll she holds … it's value could feed Mama and me for a year.

But it's hard to feel angry at such a distraught-looking child. I find myself hoping she will live past this night of horror. The captain says something to her, helping her into the life-vest. Then he picks up her and walks off quickly.

As another room of lights flicker to their deaths, a loud cracking noise splits the air. I feel the mammoth ship tilt ever more and instinctively grab a railing near me.

She's going down. God help me – the ship's going down!

The reality of the fact strikes me like a harsh slap, and I bolt from my hiding place against the wall. I can't wait for Mama anymore. I have to get into a lifeboat.

Fear propels me through the endless mass of people. There was a lifeboat to the left, I think, but it looked almost full. I must hurry! The sickness in my stomach heightens; each second that goes by brings me further from life.

My head pounds. I know am giving in to the fear of death. And I hate it.

But I must live.

I struggle to thrust my conscience aside and let my survival instincts reign as I weave through the group of people gathered around the lifeboat.

“Women and children, please! Women and children!” The shout is coming from a sailor holding the ropes for the lifeboat. He forcefully pushes back a man who tries to steps forward. But I'm a child … Without a second thought I push through to the front of the crowd, trying to catch the sailor's eye. But he is looking at something else –

The girl.

Someone has just set her in front of the crowd, and there she stands, eyes wild, clutching her doll with what must be frozen little fingers. And I know what I should do. But I can't do it.

Fear and duty fight a battle in my soul. Is this what it will come down to – me or her? Am I about to lose my life because of this small, first-class child? I was here first – the sailor knows that. Desperate, I finally catch his gaze.

For what seems like an entire minute he looks me in the eye. His eyes are deep and sad, and they pierce through my terror and into my heart. I feel the fear slowly melt. Love, valor, and the duty of protection ignite inside me under his gaze. God, forgive me.

I, Viktor, am a man. A young man, perhaps, but a man of God. The glorious and noble task of sacrifice for the weaker is mine.

Yes, a man's duty is to die, unafraid in the face of hell. Because a man of God knows that he will never see hell. I realize in that moment that the sailor and I will very soon be together in a place void of fear or death. And I will be able to thank him. Strength surges through me.

My heart strangely quieted, I walk over the to the little girl and gently pick her up. The wind blows a wispy blonde curl in my face. “Gud skydda dig,” I whisper to her, then lower her into the arms of a woman on the lifeboat. As I back away, I smile at her.

Yes, God protect you, I repeat to myself. Please, God, let her live a full, beautiful life. In place of my mamma and me.

The sailor nods to me, then with the help of another lowers the boat. Perhaps we are the blessed ones, after all. That girl will never know the deep joy, the sheer beauty of a man's sacrifice that now fills me.

I turn around and calmly walk back through the crowd, fortified against the terror pulsing through the ship.

I will die.

But not helpless, desperate, unprepared. I will die content in the knowledge that one little blonde-haired girl's life was spared. Through me. By the glorious grace of God. Yes, I am the blessed!

Coming Soon...

I have a massive post about free will coming. As in, I was getting ready to post it when I just kept adding and adding, and my muddly brain wouldn't stop to let me organize as I kept typing, so it turned into a huge out-of-order mess that's still wanting to get bigger....

Anyhow. I love the topic of (non-existent) free will - in fact, I even wrote a speech about it once, but I'm starting to even disagree with that... but back to topic - so it will be long. In fact, I'm thinking I'll just break it into a few parts. Just because. No one likes mammoth blog posts. :D

So you could read up. If you care. Examine your own position on free will and actually take time to think about why you hold it. Because I might just attempt to take down some of your arguments... ;D

Until then!

Not Just Another Night

by Ariel J

It is not a pleasant evening to be in town. The streets pour with people – most of them irritable, and most of them voicing their annoyance. Here a child who won't cease his shrill whine until hoisted on his mother's shoulders; there two men arguing heatedly about who ran into whose cart and subsequently toppled its contents into the dirt; everywhere people pushing, crowding, yelling for a relative, trying to keep their sanity amidst the cacophony.

And that's not to mention the animals. Chickens in little cages squawking pettishly at the unsteadiness of their transportation; horses bearing children compliantly and donkeys being pulled along by red-faced men; and cows following slowly, unconcerned about the whole matter.

The resulting racket is unpleasant, to say the least, but what choice does anyone have? If the king said to go to your hometown … well, you went to your hometown. And quickly.

Every other minute a new sign is put out in front of yet another inn: No Vacancy! Somehow, though, these signs don't seem to deter people from pounding on the poor innkeepers' doors.

Amidst all the chaos, who would notice a frail, elderly man hunched in a little corner between two wedged buildings? No one – and no one does. He simply sits there, skinny arms and legs tucked under a frayed blanket, inches away from the swarm of human beings but seemingly untouched by it. His face is placid, yet almost a little sad. But then perhaps not, as his bushy eyebrows are relaxed and his wrinkly face unagitated.

But now – something seems to get his attention. He turns his head slightly to the right, to look at the inn right next to him. There's a younger man at the door once again, pleading with the owner. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the aged man continues to watch.

The younger man, who is lean and strong though not handsome, gestures to a donkey a little ways away. The creature carries a woman who is heavy with child. The man continues to plead with the host, who is still shaking his head. Then the innkeeper disappears inside for a few moments. The old man still watches.

The man emerges with a couple blankets and a lamp. He steps out into the dusk, closing the door firmly behind him. The younger man, looking grateful, moves to get his wife. He takes the donkey's reigns and gently leads the animal forward, following the host. As they pass by the old man, the woman offers him a feeble smile. As if startled by this, he simply watches her with a blank face as they disappear around a corner.

Then, slowly, a lopsided smile spreads on the lined face. It remains there as he slips lower into his blanket, the sky growing ever darker.

Deep into the night, the old man awakes with a start, as a woman's cry fills the air. He blinks, eyes wide, listening. Again a outcry, this one more like a shriek, breaks the silence. The man calms a little, realizing what is happening. He almost smiles and looks up at the night sky. The stars shine effortlessly in the deep darkness, those stars he has seen thousands of times before. Softer groans greet his ears now, but he keeps his eyes on the stars.

Then the man frowns. He squints, looking into the distance. A strange sort of glow comes from near the horizon. It is like someone dropped a bit of the sun's radiance into the black sky. The man is still peering intently at it when it bursts into greater luminance, as if multiplying itself. He stares, wide-eyed, the gleam from the radiance faintly lighting up his face.

He looks astounded as soft strains of some kind of music creep through the dry, cold air. Or is it music at all? It's too quiet to tell, but whatever it is, it is warming. Yes, it is a sound that is warming.

Then, as if finished with its errand, the bright glow vanishes abruptly. For two seconds a soft light hangs in the air where it had been, but that soon disappears as well.

For a whole minute, the old eyes continue to stare at the spot, perhaps hoping the radiance will return, or perhaps doubtful it even occurred. Then the man shakes his head slightly, his face baffled. He leans his head against the ill-painted wall beside him and closes his eyes.

Not five minutes later, he is once again roused from sleep. This time it is by talking. The deep voices are hushed, but still a disturbance at this late hour. Blinking drowsily, the old man looks around, as if slightly confused. Then he looks right as footsteps grow louder …

Four men run by – in a rather disjointed run, for each looks this way and that, searching for something. It is too dark to see who they are, but the fact that they are awake at such a time of night suggests them to be some sort of night watchmen. Their words are too quiet to be understandable, so the old man simply watches them, silently.

Then they are gone, the voices and footsteps getting quieter until someone shouts. Abruptly the running feet stop. The old man's face is in concentration, as if listening for some other sound. But none comes. The men must have found what they were looking for.

Seeming to be a little miffed that this second interruption was not as grand as the first, the old man quickly resituates himself and once again closes his eyes.

Laughter wakens the ancient man. Oh, but laughter, indeed! Who laughs in the middle of the night?

As if genuinely displeased this time, the man stubbornly keeps his eyes closed, unwilling to be awakened. Four men run by him, talking in intense voices, and – yes – one of them laughs. As they energetically pass through the street, one sees the sleeping man. He slows, as if unsure whether to wake him. Apparently he decides it worth the disturbance, for he runs up to the feeble man and shakes him gently by the shoulders.

“Wake up, old man, wake up!” Obediently the man's eyes pop open. He looked surprised, and slightly scared.

The younger man grins at him. “He has been born. He's been born tonight!” he says eagerly. His listener watches him, brows furrowed. “He has finally come to us – the Messiah!” He stands, raising his hands to heaven. “Praise Jehovah, the God of Israel!”

As if unable to contain his joy while standing still, the younger man rushes off in the direction of his companions, leaving the old man with a stunned face. Slowly he reaches for his blanket, which slipped off him in the other man's exuberant shaking. He draws it back up around himself, and his expression slowly changes to awe, wonder.

Then he allows the full effect of the words to overcome him. The crooked smile, which earlier appeared tentatively, now covers his face in an instant. For the final time, he closes his eyes, but the smile does not go away.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it was a pleasant night to be in town after all.

Present Tense: Yay or Nay?

Okay, I really need your guys’ opinion on this. Please read the following paragraph.
I followed Marcus into the front room and stopped short. Wow. It was huge. The staircase was like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants were dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I looked around in wonder. Was this seriously someone’s house?
That is called past tense, and is how the majority of books are written. Now read this paragraph.
I follow Marcus into the front room and stop short. Wow. It’s huge. The staircase is like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants are dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I look around in wonder. Is this seriously someone’s house?
This is called present tense, and it unusual in published books. In my opinion, though, it’s much more personal and, well … present. It feels as if it’s happening right now. I think it really draws the reader in, as if “I” is, indeed, the reader.
So I need your opinion. Shall I go with the tried and true, which, though not as cool, is more accepted? Or shall I go with the unique, the risky … yeah, you can tell I’m biased. The only thing that prevents me from going with the awesome present is that I’m already committing 2 novel no-no’s with this book. 1, having all three viewpoint characters be first-person (I, me) and 2, it’s gonna be longer than the average novel. So it is really worth it to add to my literary sins and increase the difficulty of getting it published?
Needless to say, I can’t decide. Please comment and give me your honest opinion. I don’t care if you’ve never even considered writing a book. Just tell me which you think would be more desirable – a better book or better chance of it being published and therefore reaching more individuals?

June 27 . My Surgery . MPFL Reconstruction

     “But take heart, for I have overcome the world.”
     I was saying Jesus' words to myself as the door opened. I looked up to see a dark haired nurse, clipboard in hand. Somehow I knew she was going to call my name.
     “Ariel Strom?”
     Oh, boy. Here it comes.
     My heart pounded as I stuffed my mp3 player back in my purse. As I tried to stand, my earbud cords kept spilling out. Keep calm, Ariel, I told myself. It's fine. Take your time.
     Finally I got the annoying cords in and zipped up my purse. I smiled at the nurse as she ushered me, Mom, and Dad inside. She told me her name; I was too nervous to remember it.
     “Alright. What's your name and date of birth?” she asked before we got far. I told her, and we moved down the short hall. “And what's Dr. Bents doing for you today?”
     “He's doing surgery on my left knee,” I replied, looking around the hospital-ish interior. It looked pretty calm and clean.
     “Can you be more specific?”
     I smiled. “Yeah. He's making a new tendon for my kneecap – out of my hamstring.”
     “Very good.” She pointed to a little half-room that could be curtained off. “So this is where you'll be.”
     Although there was shelving holding machinery on the back wall, mostly what I noticed was the clean, perfectly white hospital bed. It just looked … relaxing.
     The nurse had me change into a hospital gown and put my things my clothes, purse, and contact case into a bin that was stored beneath my bed.
     “So will I be on this bed the whole time?” I asked the nurse once I was situated, Mom and Dad in chairs beside me.
     “Mm-hm. They'll just wheel it into the operation room.”
     The first thing she did was to take my temperature and ask again which leg it was, which resulted in her marking my left leg with a little circley design. “Just initial that,” she said, giving me the pen. Now that gave me some serious peace of mind, knowing they would operate on the right – I mean, correct – leg.
     It was about then that I noticed that my bed wasn't long enough. It reached about to my ankles. And I'm only, what… five eight? They must not get to many tall people in there.
     Next she asked about allergies and once again what my name was. These questions resulted in two bands which she strapped around my wrist. One had several capital letters –meaningless to me – and one with my name, age, address, etc.. I kinda felt like a newborn baby.

     In the next fifteen, twenty minutes, things just kept being attached to me. I kept count. First it was the legendary arm-squeezer-to-find-blood-pressure-thing which squeezed my left arm to death every five minutes, and then a little thing that clamped to my finger, taking my pulse. Then came three round stickers around my heart. These she promptly hooked cords to which must've led to some machine. I was actually glad to have them, knowing they would be monitoring my heart while I was unconscious. But then … she laid a clear tube on my shoulder. And I knew what was coming next.
     The IV.
     Okay, so I wasn't that nervous. It just kind of creeped me out that it would be in my skin for so long. The nurse tied a blue rubbery thing tight around my arm.
     “Ariel?”
     I looked to my mom. “Hm?”
     “What do you want for supper tonight?”
     I smiled, knowing she was trying to get my mind off my right wrist. “Well, hmm … ”
     “Go ahead and pump your hand,” the nurse ordered. I did, trying to force my mind to supper. It wasn't too hard, considering I was very hungry.
     “Do you want pizza? Or pasta?” Mom tried.
     “Okay, stop,” the nurse said.
     I stopped. “No, how about …  soup!”
     “Come on, vein,” the nurse muttered to my skinny wrist.
     “What kind of soup?”
     I had to think about this. The nurse warned, “I'm gonna whack it a little to get it to stick up.”
     And whack it she did.
     After a little grimacing on my part, I guess she got it to pop up, because she said, “Okay, a little prick here … ”
     Mom came to the rescue. “Didn't we just buy ravioli?”
     “Yeah.” There came the prick, hardly hurting at all. “For ravioli soup.”
     “Oh yeah … ”
     I felt something happening to my wrist but didn't want to look.
     “What kind of sauce was in that?” continued Mom. “I can't remember.”
     “Another little prick...”
     Again, almost nothing, now that my mind was involved in ravioli soup sauce. “It was just like pasta sauce,” I said.
     “Like tomato sauce,” offered Dad.
     Mom nodded. “Oh, okay.”
     “Yeah, with … ” I looked to the ceiling, searching for the word. “Umm, what's the word! With … it's like … arg. Cow?” I tried desperately.
     “Beef?”
     “Hamburger!” I cried.
     The nurse laughed. “Cow? Oh wow. You guys did great distracting her.”
     Yep. I looked down at the IV, which the nurse was now putting piece after piece after piece of tape onto. I kind of smiled, feeling a little ashamed at being worried over such a little thing.

     Time passed. The nurse left after getting my IV done. All three of us were nervous, no one really starting a conversation. Sometimes I would catch Mom or Dad looking at me a certain way – sort of sad and pitying. I guess I must have looked pitiful.
     “It must be weird seeing me like this,” I said finally. “All wired up. You know how you always look at people in the hospital like this, but it's weird that I'm the one in the bed with the IV.”
     I had brought my kindle to read, my mp3 player, and whatever else there was in my purse. But I didn't feel like using any of it. I just wanted to lie there. Although my heart rate was a bit fast, I could sense God there, calming me down.
     We talked a little about my book. Dad had a great idea, so I asked mom to write it down for me – my right first-finger was still in that annoying clamper thing. It felt kind of numb.
     “What time is it?” I asked Dad. The surgery was supposed to start at 10:45, so we had gotten let in by the nurse at about 10.
     “11:07.”
     “Seriously?” I couldn't believe it. “It's already been that long?”
     “I'm glad time's going quickly for you!” Mom inserted.
     I shook my head in amazement. “Wow. I wonder why they're so late.”
      Then someone got a brilliant suggestion – I think it was Mom.
     “Do you want to call Tianna?”
     I smiled. “Yeah!”
     We talked for about a half-an-hour. I told her about all the things attached to me, and she read off a couple of email and texts people had sent for me. In the middle of the call, Dad stood up. I paused Tianna.
     “I have to go, honey,” he said.
     I sighed, but knew he had stayed extra long. Too bad the surgery was so late. He leaned over and I hugged him. “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”
     “Love you.” He stood and smiled. “God bless you.”
     “Thanks.” I watched him leave, then picked up my conversation with Tianna. For probably the twentieth time, I blurted, “I'm so hungry!”
     Tianna voice said, “Me too.” A pause. “I'm fasting and praying for you.”
     My heart melted. Okay, that's melodramatic, but really, it felt like it. “Oh, Tianna!”
     “Well – ” she laughed a little, “I felt bad eating since you couldn't.”
     I love my sister. A lot.
     “Thank you so much! That means a lot to me.”
     That really topped off the overflowing cup-of-love-and-prayers-from-people.

     Finally we said goodbye; the doctor was coming to talk to us.
     “Hey, Ariel,” he said, holding out his right hand.
     I awkwardly gave him my IV and finger-clamped hand, which he shook as if they weren't in the way. I smiled.
     “How‘re you doing?” he asked. I noted his surgeon cap.
     “Pretty good.”
     I don't remember all he said. I think he checked my knee to see the mark and probably checked out my temperature and heart rate. As he left, I felt so thankful that he was doing the surgery himself. I'd been to two check-ups with him and felt completely comfortable with him doing it. Yet another of God's blessings.
     Next I had to use the restroom – after all, they'd been pouring sugar-water into me for an hour and a half! When I got back to my room, the anesthesiologist was already there, talking to Mom.
     “Hi!” he said when he saw me. “I'm Dr. Bob.”
     “Hi,” I answered. He looked kind.
     He got to work explaining to us what he was going to do. “I'll give you a sedator  first, to kinda make you not care as much, and then I'll do some drawing on you.” He looked at Mom. “So she'll have some purple lines on her skin, but they'll come off when she takes a shower.
     Then,” he continued, “I'll put some numbing gel on you and poke around with a needle to find the right nerves to block.” This didn't sound good, but then I knew this part would be the most painful. “So I'm gonna make your tendons twitch, okay, until I find the right place to numb.”
     I raised my eyebrows and giggled a little. It sounded weird.
     “Am I gonna be wheeled into the surgery room right after I get the blocks?” I asked when he was finished explaining everything.
     “Mm-hm.”
     Good. I took a deep breath. Then, before I knew it, it was time.

     The nurse set a little oxygen tube around my face, with tiny things for my nostrils. The air was cold.
     I had waited till the end to take my contacts out, so I could be aware of what was going on around me as long as possible. Now, while Dr. Bob got his stuff set up, I finally took them out. I looked around for a moment, getting used to the enormous blur everything was now.
     Mom came up beside my head. “Good luck, honey,” she whispered. “Remember to say your Bible verses. I'll be praying.” I gave her a smile and she left. My heart kinda jumped; it was really starting now.
     They completely curtained me off, then gave me the sedator. I felt its effect almost immediately. My sight became dizzy, and I felt a little out of it. Weird.
     “Turn on your right side there,” the nurse told me. It felt weird to move being so dizzy. But here's where the sedator came in handy. I could kind of feel him drawing on my skin, and it would have tickled.
     “Okay. A little pressure,” the doctor warned. I tried not to get more nervous.
     Whoah! That was pressure, but it felt so strange I hardly noticed. What on earth was he doing? And then –
     I gave a little gasp. I could feel something … moving in the back of my leg. I realized instantly what it was: my own tendon.
     Eww.
     The creepy jumping continued until he must've found the right place. There was a little more pressure, and then nothing. I was pretty woozy when they asked me to roll back to my back.
     Now I could see the two people bending over me. Well, blobs of color that were supposedly them. Then the pressure came again on the front of my leg. But this time when the tendon jumped on the inside of my leg, I couldn't help it. I squirmed.
     It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I've ever had. I was infinitely glad my contacts were out so I couldn't see the tendon twitching – feeling it was enough.
     It kept jumping. I kept squirming. Lord, please make it stop! There was nothing more that I wanted in that moment than it just to be over with.
     “That's not the place I want,” came Dr. Bob's voice. “I want the kneecap.”
     Then move it! Please!
     He did. Soon I could feel my kneecap twitching. But that wasn't nearly as bad.
     “That's the place,” he said and numbed right there,. I breathed a big breath. Thank you, God. Thank you that's over.
     I was in an odd state. Very tired, slightly nervous, dizzy, and very ready to be wheeled into that surgery room. I felt a little tinge of happiness, too. It was time. It was really time!
     “Feels weird,” I mumbled to the nurse. “I can sort of feel them getting numb.” In a moment I was ready to be moved. They pulled my bed out of the little curtained space and began wheeling me backwards into the operation room.
     As I came to a stop, someone lifted a mask-type thing over my face. “Think about some place nice and warm,” a voice was saying. “Think about California.”
     I blinked twice at the ceiling. Nothing was happening…

     I was shivering. People were putting blankets over me. I opened my eyes.
     How funny. I'm dreaming I'm at the hospital.
     Then somehow things came clear. Oh, that's right, I'm here because of my knee. Oh yeah, I just had knee surgery –
     It's over!
     I could have cried. It was over. It was done. My knee was fixed. The surgery was over!
     I was still shivering, but I wasn't cold. Especially with three blankets over me. But my body was trembling all over.
     I still had all six things attached to me. I felt kinda woozy. A nurse approached me.
     “How are you feeling?”
     “Uh, pretty good.”
     “Are you ready to have your parents come in?”
     I wasn’t quite … myself, yet. “Not quite yet,” I told her.
     “Okay. Can I get you anything to drink? We have water, juice – ”
     “Water would be good.”
     She nodded and came back soon with an icy cup of water. As I drank it, I adjusted to where I was and said a very thankful prayer to God. My leg felt weird – it was completely numb.
     After a couple mintues, I was ready for Mom and Dad. Soon I saw them coming as colorful blurs.
     “Hi, Ariel!” Dad said. He sounded like he was smiling.
     I smiled weakly. “Hi.”
     “How are you doing, honey?” Mom asked. She sounded concerned.
     My teeth clacked together. “I'm shivering. But I'm not cold.”
     Mom gently rubbed my arm. “Oh yeah. I had that reaction to anesthesia, too. I forgot about it.”
     “It's weird.” Really weird.
     “It'll go away soon.”
     “Oh, let me take your picture.” Dad pulled out his iphone. “Smile!”

     I did.