Pebbles in a Creek

                I stand with my feet in the cool golden waters of the creek, in my hand is a smooth honey colored pebble. A leaf falls from a nearby tree and lands in the water, making faint ripples. Smaller such rings appear as a water skater lands and looks for tiny bugs. I drop the pebble as hear the “plop” as the water rings spread further and further apart. With a tiny motion, I disturbed the flow of this simple creek.

         Each action we undertake has a reaction. We affect all of those around us, whether or not we are aware of it. We all drop pebbles into creeks, the lives of others. There are numerous ways to drop a pebble and the ripples that emerge are different every single time. The dropped pebble can cause a positive change in someone’s life, or they can terrible consequences.

“Hey, Retard!” A dodge ball comes flying at me, hitting my hip as if it was a missile. I can already tell that it will bruise in a few minutes. As I move to sit on the bench, three more balls fly at me. Two thump my back while the third finds its mark on my head.

            “I’m already out!” I turn back and face the three boys standing there in complete confidence, convinced that they are allowed to do this.

            “So?” The leader, a tall tan sports player with dust colored hair spreads his arms. “This isn’t for bookworms, Retard.” The boy to his left starts to throw another ball when Coach Percival tells us to change and head to our class. I walk into the locker room, shaking with the effort of keeping my feelings hidden. I can’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I stifle a sob as I pull out my t-shirt. Why did my teacher have to place me next to them? How long will I have to pray until we get a new seating arrangement?

            I sat between two of my tormentors for the rest of the school year. Everyday new insults were added as they tried to cheat off of “The Retard’s tests.” When the next year started, nothing changed. My teacher finally found me sobbing in the bathroom one day. Although I did not understand at the time what had happened, several bad ripples had emerged in my creek. I refused to make eye contact, flinched every time someone tried to hug me. Worst of all, my prayers had gone unanswered for so long that I was convinced God abhorred for me. I hid in a fantasy world of books, build a wall around myself; all because three boys dropped pebbles of doubt, hate and fear into the creek of my soul. We may tease each other, but to some it is not teasing. Every step you take, the smallest word you say can and will affect those around you. I still struggle with what happened to me. What those boys did has impacted my outlook on life, and the way I think of myself. Their pebbles were thrown in with force, but we have the choice to gently let the pebble skip cheerfully across the creek.

            “Hey, are you going to Jen’s party?” A tall boy with coffee colored hair stands in the doorway of my mother’s classroom.

            “I don’t know…” I trail off, trying to come up with some excuse.

            “I can give you a ride if you need one.”

            “I’ve got a lot of homework, Kaleb.” I glance down at the desk, refusing to meet his gaze.

            “It’s on a Saturday.” He strode over and sat on the edge of the desk. “You’d enjoy it. We’re watching a movie, playing games, the whole gang will be up there.”

            “I don’t really know Jen that well.”

            “She loves reading the same stuff you do and is an excellent cook. You’d like her.” He bends down till his eyes are level with mine. “Please Sis? You spend too much time avoiding people. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re my sister, well, in spirit.”

            “Alright,” I sigh and try to hide my small smile from him.

            “You’ll have a lot of fun, you’ll see. I love you Sis.” The nineteen year-old college student wrapped his arms around me, a mere fourteen year-old nerd, and pulled me into a bear hug. I froze, no boy, not even my cousins had hugged me in years.

            That hug, from a friend who became my honorary brother, was a pebble. Unlike the first, it radiated kindness and a form of love that I had believed to be dead. The initial ripples of fear and confusion gave way to hope, support, loyalty and adoration. I could see the light again, although I did not yet comprehend its meaning. Even now, I can still feel the effects of that one hug in my internal creek. However, it was a year later that my creek truly began to find its true course, with the help of an avalanche of pebbles that were tossed in by three complete strangers.

            “Sis!” Zach, a tall tan boy with chocolate hair and earth brown eyes turns and looks for me. “Where are you going?” He raises his voice, trying to make himself heard over the concert music and the writhing crowd.

            “I’m gonna buy some of that last band’s stuff.” I point to the tents set up not too far from the stage.

            He lifts one eyebrow. “Really? I’d think you liked that kind of stuff.”

            “I don’t, but they did a good job of working with the crowd. Plus they mocked Twilight, I’m just doing it to support them.”

            “A’right, you want me to come with you?” A look of concern crosses his face. This kid may not have known me for long, but I can tell he thinks I’m too shy to go by myself.

            “I’ll be fine,” I lie, Zach needs to spend some time with his real sister, not the girl he claims as one. I turn and let the flow of people take me to the line of teens and adults wanting to buy Manic Drive merchandise.

            “CD’S!” A girl comes out waving a basket of CD’s. “Two for twenty bucks! Get them signed inside!”

            “What the heck, why not?” I raise my hand and give her a twenty as she hands me the two albums. I stand there and look at the smooth cool covers that are now mine. One is dark blue with the three band members standing under the title Blue. The other shows a wind-swept desert and bares the phrase Reason for Motion up at the top. I look up to realize that I am next in line to meet the band.

            A boy, only ten years older than me meets my eye. His short black hair is on end from his recent performance. I step forward, a compliment about his singing on my lips when he smiles at me. I freeze, the hand holding the CD’s outstretched. Still holding my gaze he gently take Blue and opens it. “Did you enjoy the show?” He inquires as he signs his name.

            “Yeah, you guys did a really good job.” I bite my tongue. “Really? That’s all you have to say to the kid?” He looks up as he hands my CD to the guitarist, still smiling at me. I’m tempted to see if he is looking at someone behind me. As I take Blue back from the drummer, I look back at the singer. Why did he smile at me? He doesn’t know me.

            That smile, a tiny twitch of facial muscles had a huge impact on my creek. That smile held words, as did the look of kindness in his eyes. The singer (Shawn Cavallo) did not know that I did not trust people enough to make eye contact; he just reached out and looked straight into my dull and unused eyes. He did not know that only my closest friends, my “brothers” gave me looks of kindness. I had never thought to look for that in a stranger, but Shawn did. I thought about that smile for the rest of the concert and until the next day.

            The rain fell hard on the tin roof, drowning out the sound of my father’s snores from the next room. I glance at the clock as I lay my book down, the digital face reads seven a.m. Gazing around my room, I spy two CD’s I bought at the concert yesterday. Careful as to not wake my parents, I place the first CD in the player and press play. The lyrics had been placed inside the cover and I read them while the music played.

            “… thought I made a masterpiece, compared it to clones I thought I made an art that was unique (Manic Drive, “Blue”).” “That’s funny,” I was having the same problems with my stories. I sit and listen, intrigued now by the band who has the same creative problems as me. “Tried my own way, still I can never feel at home. Please don’t remind me that I can’t do this on my own; change my will to Yours... (“Blue”) “Change my will to whose? Do they mean God? No,” I rub my arms. “No, he doesn’t care about me.”

            The song switches, a slow piano number begins. “…I need you closer, so take all I am, start again, bring me in cause I need you… (“Closer”) “Do I need God? He certainly has not done a good job of taking care of me.” I shudder as a brief memory of the bullies flashes through my mind while the next verse goes on. “We turn around and we curse his name, they convince us that our God is dead and it’s His fault that we lost Him (“Closer”).” My head jerks back as if I had been slapped.  I sit there for a few minutes before putting the second CD in.

            “I know you’re hurting; your eyes, they show me the truth and my heart, it hurts for you (“Tragedy”).” I frown in thought, “does God feel pain for me? How could he understand what I had gone through?” “How can I come to you when life’s a tragedy?” I nod my head, even the song writers don’t get it. “I don’t want to think that I’ll lose you over one mistake. I hope you try to find a place for me in your heart…” “God wants a place in my heart?” I bit my lip as I try to figure out this seemingly complex puzzle. Then the song changes again, speaking of hiding from the past and leaving God behind (“Crying”). That’s what I did, “should I stop running?” Tears of confusion start to build up as the second singer sings his part of the chorus. “I’ll wait for you, if you want me to. Look at me, in the eyes, cause it’s now or never (“Crying”).” “Has he been waiting, or have I left it too late?” The second verse continues to describe the fears and doubts that I have held for what seems an eternity. The tears start to fall from my eyes as I try not to sob. “What have I done? Did I really cut myself off from what I needed? Can I ever get it back?”

            The last song begins, as I try to read the lyrics with eyes floating in salty water. “My spirit came and created light and since then I loved you (“Alive”).” The impenetrable wall I built around myself trembles. “He loved me?" “I’m alive, I’m still here. Just seek and you’ll know (“Alive”).” Once again I start to weep as the wall breaks. Somewhere inside I feel as if a final puzzle piece has been placed in my soul.

 The band Manic Drive dropped more than a pebble in my creek. Their decision to start singing resulted in me gaining my life back. They gave me the final push I needed to be in God’s arms. I found out in the course of writing this paper that the main album that save me, Reason for Motion, came out the same year that I lost my faith. The actions of three Canadian boys in their mid-twenties made me become a true believer of Christ, and they do not even know my name.

            No matter what we do, someone is watching. They are watching our actions and are being affected by them, no matter how big or small the decision. What we do does have an impact, whether we know it or not. Insults will lead others to ruin, and not just the victim. People do judge us by the way we treat others. Small movements, such as a hug can show someone the meaning of love in ways we could never understand. Perhaps the most wondrous of all, we can change the life if a complete stranger without knowing we have done so. We all drop our own pebbles in all the creeks around us. The question is, what kind of pebble do we choose to drop?

Works Cited

Manic Drive. “Blue.” Blue. Spring Hill, TN: Whiplash Records. 2009

Manic Drive. “Closer”. Blue. Spring Hill, TN: Whiplash Records. 2009

Manic Drive. “Tragedy”. Reason for Motion. Spring Hill, TN: Whiplash Records. 2006

Manic Drive. “Crying”. Reason for Motion. Spring Hill, TN: Whiplash Records. 2006

Manic Drive. “Alive”. Reason for Motion. Spring Hill, TN: Whiplash Records. 2006

Bedtime Thoughts: Brothers and Memories

It's late, my parents and sister have already gone to bed. I lay in my bed, the warm light from my lamp casts light across my room. This light, so much smaller than my bedroom light, still manages to light up the entire room. My light may not be as strong as Father's, but it still shines. Be it science or faith, light and dark cannot co-exist.

The fan blows my still damp hair in my face, I brush it back as I stare at the ceiling. The cardboard dragon model above my bed spins in the breeze created by the fan. It's blue and white scales make it as a frost dragon. It's long shadow spreads across the ceiling, looking for a place to land but doomed to fly forever. I give a snort of laughter as I recall how this past December Tristin and Ayden had told in about the monstrous frost dragons they had fought in their computer/video games. They had been so excited and eager to tell me of their conquests and of the magical creatures that hold all three of us in awe.

I pause for a minute, listening to the music coming through my mp3 player. Again I hold back my laughter, thinking of the look on Ayden's face when he introduced me to TobyMac. He had thought I didn't like it, yet today I've listened to this album three or four times. I'll probably have it memorized by tommorrow.

My eyes move from the dragon to the tall white bookshelf at the foot of my bed. Tales of the Kingdom, The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Circle. I smile, Tristin Ayden and Aric all pushed me to read that last series. I finally gave in and ordered a set after Christmas. Those books have helped me understand love in a way had never though possible. Yet another thing I have to thank my brothers for.

At the foot of the bookshelf is a small wooden treasure box. Letters from Mexico, a rosary, a candle, a photo and a blue chopstick reside inside it. All of them are from Aric, my gifts from a close friend and brother. Sometimes I pull the letters out and read them. Laughing at his adventures on the missionary trip, and fingering the wooden rosary he brought back for me. I play the chopstick, wondering is Aric still has the matching one.I look at the picture of the two of us at prom, thinking of how excited we where to dance in a castle, despite not knowing how to dance.The candle fills my nose with the sent of lemongrass, my favorite. I can remember when he went to the store he bought it at on our one evening out. Next to the chest, on the bottom shelf are two binders. One is filled with my first and only completed manuscript, the other is Aric's. The creative fantasy worlds that we helped each other create. On rainy days I flip through them, amazed by how much we have grown with our imaginations and a pen.

Next to the white bookshelf is a small brown one, under my window. There, on the bottom left shelf is a pitiful collection of CD's. Red, Manic Drive, Skillet and Newsboys. Ayden introduced me to Red, and even gave me one of the two CD's that I have by that group. I giggle, then stop, not wanting to wake my sister or Dad in the adjoining rooms. Ayden took me to my first concert, I've only been to one concert without him, actually. He was with me when we heard Manic Drive for the first time. This past year he has helped me grow in my faith by using music, or lectures where Aric used his pen.My fondest memories of my last year in the Asylum were of the weekend long concert I spent with Ayden and the rest of the youth group. Sometimes I play his favorite Red, Skillet or TobyMac songs and try to figure out why he likes them so much, and why I agree or disagree with him. Like writing, music has a flow a plus that can affect the lives of people around the world. The pen and music is what gave me my faith back.

On my west wall, next to my mirror is a picture, Tristin gave it to me on my birthday. He spent over a month drawing this detailed picture of the library we both dreamed of yet never had. I grin at the way he had complained about how long it took to draw every single tiny book on the endless shelves. I love it, at least once a week I go up to it and look at his signature in the bottom right corner. It's a friendly little wave that reminds me that he really did draw that medieval underground armed library just for me.I looked at the back of the picture once. Tristin's favorite smiley face, the head of a dismayed man (he may have been in pain, I couldn't tell) a half erased celtic knot that beat any that I could have drawn and the phrase "It's equal." Whether that is just his doodles or something meant for me, it brings a smile to me face.

These gifts, given in passing are tokens of the love that resides between siblings. I've never told Tristin how much I love it when he calls me "sis"; it makes me glow on the inside. The way I can't stop smiling when Ayden runs to give me a hug when he sees me at church. The feeling of trust when Aric tells me of his problems and how he has fixed other issues. I belong when they give me these small gestures. I strive to impress them, to live up to their expectations as much as my parents'.I want them to know I listened to what they told me and that I love them too. A few times I've had bad dreams about letting them down, though as of yet I haven't done anything too major. Aric still want to know what I am writing and always offers his help and thoughts.Tristin told me he was proud of me several times on my graduation day and kept apologizing for not being there. Ayden did the same, and continues to tell me about how much I am going to love being at college this fall.

My eyes move back to the lamp and to the new Bible laying next to it. If these boys see me as their little sister, how much more so my Savior, Jesus? I may not have any letters, music or pictures from Him, but His love for me is stronger than any shared by two mortals. In my ear, TobyMac continues to sing "this ain't no ordinary love." He's right, this is a special love, one that needs no gifts or tokens, yet Jesus still gave me one. His gift for me is in my heart. I can feel his arms around me when I close my eyes. This brother gave his life for mine, Tristin's, Ayden's and Aric's. I don't know if he'll call me '"sis", but the love of a brother is unique and I have learned to recognize it, thanks to Tristin, Ayden and Aric. I only hope and pray that the love of a little sister is enough for all four of them and that I don't abandon my eldest brother.

The song changes, taking my thoughts with it. I roll over, glancing around my room once more. Before long this won't be my room, I'll be gone to college. What will I take? What will I leave? The letters, the music, the picture? The stories we all told and listened to? Will I leave them behind and start anew, like so many of my classmates are doing? Will do the opposite and take the past into the future? I stretch, my fingers brushing the smooth, cool cover of my Bible. Is it the past, the memories that defines who I am, or is it what I do with my past? I turn off the lamp and take out my earbuds, the player goes to sleep as the last song ends. My Bible, letters, music and picture will come with me; to remind me to stay in touch with all four of my brothers and make new memories with them. A new beginning does not mean an end to the laughter of the past, and I want to have their friendship and support for the rest of my life. I flip my phone over to find a text from Ayden: G nite sis. Sleep well n God bless. Love ya. Yawning, I save the text and send him a similar one back before pulling the sheet up to my ears. Some nights, like tonight, I can feel Jesus sitting on the foot of my bed. He's watching over me with the love and wisdom of a brother as I drift into the dreams he wants to share with me. I hazily wonder what he has in store for me, Tristin, Ayden, and Aric.

Sacrifice of Love

Recently my church began to do a twenty-one day fast. My youth class decided to give up one or more of our hobbies and habits. Honorary older brother, Ayden, gave up his video games. My dear companion at school, Mae, gave up facebook and texting. I gave up restricted myself to read only the Bible and to do no writing besides what was needed for school. I started on the first day of second semester and went on from there. When my classmates found out about it, they all stared.

"Now Lizzy, be serious." One senior tried to reason with me. He has been my friend since we were ten. He knows that I read to escape, to draw strength from the characters; to learn how to be a better writer and to gain more understanding of how the world around me works. This boy understands that writing my fiction stories is how I process what happens in my life and that it kept me sane during my rough time away from God.

"I am serious." I meant it. What better place to gain strength and understanding than from God? How would I be able to hear what he said if I had my ears stuffed with wax?

"Wow, Lizzy, you're crazy." A dark haired girl points her finger at me eyeing me carefully. I used to play house with her on the playground. We've never been very close, but to her I'm the daughter of two teachers who has had her nose in a book since second grade. There's a look in her eyes that startles me. Yes, she really thinks I've gone round the bend. However, the way she looks at me holds more. She's in awe that I'd be willing to even try this fast, I can see that she respects me.

"I'd never be able to do that." Another girl I grew up with shakes her head. It startles me. I've never really been part of the group. I sit with them at lunch, but for the most part I do my own thing. We don't hang out outside of school and the clubs we participate in are different as well. Her grades are above mine and I've always felt shabby in my old black jeans and red Wal-Mart blouse compared to her outfits. Sometimes I felt she looked down on me because of my eagerness in English and Viking-like hair. Yet here she was, giving me a look of pride and respect.

I shrug, not sure what to say. "Anything is possible with God." All three of them widen their eyes further, anymore and the eyeballs may fall out. "Plus it's just books and a pen." The eyes shrink a tad, but I can still feel them watching me as I go back to the video I'm making for class.

A week passed. I had no problem with not touching the shelves of fiction that reside in my room...until the books I ordered over break came in. A leather bound edition of The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis and Ted Dekker's The Circle Series. I was tempted, but as soon as they were out of the packaging they were on my book shelf next to The Lord of the Rings.

By the second week I noticed changes in my behavior. I had more energy, physically I felt the same as always. Spiritually I was jumping up and down like a toddler on soda. I had a few free classes. While the others were playing games I opted to read my Bible. I studied First Samuel, Esther, Ruth, most of Daniel, and parts of Job, James, and Genesis in those classes. It was a very good learning experience. To top that off, I gained more patience with the classmates that I normally have the urge to strangle. I saw them differently and grew to love them. My love for God seemed to explode and I swear I could feel his hand on my shoulder when I walked down the hallway (no, it wasn't my backpack).

During my last week, I had a surprise. Part of what I had been praying for was that my classmates would become closer to God. Suddenly the friends I mentioned above were praying and discussing Bible verses on Facebook. They still said that I was crazy, but every time they ask if I was still fasting, I could sense their excitement and the pride when they explained to the teacher why I wasn't reading my favorite authors in my spare time (I tried to tell the teachers, but they beat me to it). To top it off, one of the girls walked up to me with a huge grin and a glow of joy. She told me she was fasting by giving up Facebook for a week. I wanted to hug her and cry for joy (unfortunately even a hug breaks the PDA rules and can land you in ISD).

I gave up my books, paper and pen for God. In that time I began to understand just how much he loves me. Jesus gave up his life for me, why can't I show my love for him by sacrificing my other loves? Even now that the fast is over, I'm still learning about the Father's love. The Circle Series continues to open my eyes and heart. I can feel my mind turning over these new ideas and comparing them with parts of the Bible to make sure Ted Dekker's words match. They do, and a few issues I have always been confused on are starting to make sense. That doesn't mean that I can't continue to to my part in what Dekker calls "The Great Romance" and turn over what I have (pen, tongue, heart and mind) to my Lord.

Field Trip

Yesterday my classmates and I were let out of the straight jackets to visit a college library...It was rather interesting. It involved my going from the second floor to the basement and vise virsa three times on those steep steps (that you can look down through and see people on the lower floors) before I saw the elevator. The moving bookshelves in "The Lower Level" (sounds ominous to me, but that's what the map said) were very...purple. As the rest of the place was gray green and varying shades of white, some of my classmates just stared and blinked at the sudden color exposition. Yes I made the shelves move, and no I didn't shut someone in there. I thought about doing it to a classmate (who should have been named Loki) but after one of the younger girls tried to do it to our teacher, I didn't get a chance. I helped some girls find their books (after I figured out how the shelving worked...).

During lunch on campus, one of the girls my age gasped and kept telling me to look behind me. It was a college boy. Tall, pale, with black messy hair and the slight attempts of having a beard. "Oh, Ivy" She looked at me and back at the poor kid. "Isn't he perfect? Oh...he's beautiful. Ivy, he's god-like." Her eyes were glued to the boy who was trying hard to study his book. "Oh, college boys are so much better than the ones at school. He's god-like. Ivy, can you imagine what our kids would look like?"...I have never been so embarrassed in my life.

After lunch I checked out the writing center, but mostly I sat at a desk and tried to scribble down a few ideas. When I came back to my group's study room on the second floor, most of my classmates were back. One came in with her eyes bugged out, eyebrows up as high as they could go and she was bouncing, ever so slightly, as she stood there. Every once in a while her head, arm or shoulder would twitch. She had drank two cappuccinos and was almost finished with her large Mountain Dew. I was afraid we would need to tie her up on the bus ride home.

Ten minutes later, I checked out the books I needed from the massive library and climbed onto the bus. Ten minutes from school we had to stop at a small feed mill because cappuccino girl had to use the bathroom... Once back at school we were sent to join the kids who had not gone on the trip and were in the last class of the day. I walked in there, saw teens talking, sitting and laughing. Cappuccino girl and one of the boys from the trip came in, later than I was. The boy shuffled his feet, dragged an extra chair next to the one in front of me and placed his bag on the table. He looked at me, "I'm so tired. I slept all the way back." This said, he collapsed on the chairs, curled up and went back to sleep. Cappuccino girl started talking at a hundred miles per hour and tried to wake the sleeping boy. He groaned, and she sat on him. I got up and went to the professor in charge of the class. "Can I go to the library?"

Wednesday Quotes

"Fear kills everything...Your mind, your heart, your imagination." -Inkheart

The Real Narnia

Today my sister and I watched The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Once again we were swept into the world of Narnia that our mother first took us to when I was six or seven. My sister rode on Aslan's back to the White Witch's castle. I watched as Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy made their way to the Beavers' dam. The world of Narnia is one that has held the hearts of children for generations. They cry and laugh with the characters that mean so much to them. More than anything, we all wish to see Narnia with our own eyes. Now most of those who read the books know fully well who Aslan is and what he means when he tells the children he has a different name in our world. Yet the reader who knows that Aslan died for Narnia as Jesus died for us and that Aslan's name here is God still longs to be in Narnia. We still want to dance with the fawns, talk with the dryads, and learn to fight with the knights of Narnia. Christianity seems to be so much simpler there. The truth is that it is just as hard there as here. People fall, make mistakes, turn away from the truth, suffer for doing right, loose all they have and die in Narnia as much as in the real world. It just sounds better and less dark in those books because we are not really there. We are observers and cannot easily get inside the minds of the people in books. You cannot understand why Susan forgot Narnia completly unless you have forgotten Christianity. Everything is more obvious in books than in real life. Most of us distrust the White Witch as soon as she turns up in the book. C.S. Lewis made the line between good and evil plainly. In real life it is blurred and covered in a fog. Yet the signs and warnings are the same there as they are here. You just have to keep an eye open for them, or you will miss them. Nothing is spelled out for you as it is in books. The same evil is in Narnia and in this world. The same God as well. There may not be magic and fairies, but there is still a real deep magic, although it is not so much magic as it is power. You can have your adventures and battles with the White Witch and other villains. However they have different names here. The story is still the same though. The world of Aslan is real, you just have to find it inside yourself. Walking into your closet will do no good, the forest with the street lamp is all around you. You were born into it, but today it is called by a different name. I believe in Narnia, do you?

Wednesday Quotes

"That's right, cause ducks don't leave tracks."-Dad while driving during the early morning without sleep since the night before.