The black spaces between them are so enticing...

Have you ever spent a summer’s night lying on your back, watching the stars? If you tilt your head back—just a little—it almost feels like gravity plays a trick on you, and you’re about to fall into the sky. I would dangle my legs up toward the stars, and it felt like I was only attached to the ground by the thinnest of threads. I used to do that all the time when I was little. I would show my cousins too, but they always said the feeling of falling into the sky was too weird, and they’d go back inside. But I loved it! I still do, actually. I would look at the spaces between the stars and wonder what I would find if I managed to somehow loose myself from this tiny rock and plummet into the depths of space—only I didn't think of it as “space” back then, such an empty and lifeless word. No, the stars were placed in the Heavens, and I was sure that if I could get myself up there I would be able to hear them singing, and I might even be able to dance with them.

                I’m not sure when it happened, exactly, but gradually I stopped running outside after dark to stare up at the sky and wonder. It might have been because I found out there were little bugs and creatures on the ground that liked to climb on me while I was looking elsewhere. It might have been because no one would go with me, and I heard terrifying stories about children who went out after dark and were lost or taken. Perhaps I got distracted by people, tv, video games, or books. Whatever happened to cause it, I stopped. Then I moved to a big city, and the stars hid away behind the lights of the cars and the buildings and the airplanes. I stopped wondering what was out there, and I stopped listening for the songs of Heaven and the stars.  Instead I became preoccupied with myself and those small happenings that impacted my life. What I would do, what I would become, who I saw—or worked with, or liked, or didn't. I lost sight of the stars, and forgot how small and petty I really am—and I became overwhelmingly and agonizingly… sad.

                I forgot what I used to know so well as a little girl: just because I am so small now doesn't mean I have to stay that way. I am only half-a-breath from falling into the glorious song and dance of the Heavens themselves.

                I think I’m going to go stargazing tonight. Maybe this time, I won’t come back.

Something is better than Nothing... ?

I am trying to write every day--or at least on most days--but on some days it is immensely harder than on others.
On some days the stories flow, the thoughts pour out, and my heart is open and singing.
On others, today, the silence is ... disheartening.
On those days, the reasons not to write sound extremely compelling, and it's tempting to just ignore the discipline altogether.
On those days it is hard to string two words together, and all I want to put up here is a fun little message to the world to just bugger off and leave me alone.
On these days I want to run far & run fast away from... myself.

Somewhere along the way I got this notion in my head that problems are localized to the place they occur in, that if you leave that place the problems will get left behind.
In my head I know that this is false, but in my gut? In the core of my being? I still think if I change my address I will leave the old problems behind and get to deal with new ones.

Being an Army brat does weird things to a person's psyche.

But it doesn't work that way when the problem is me, and that's a fact I have had a hard time coming to terms with.
So I get to write about that. Not very interesting, not new, not terribly positive, but it's all my mind is stringing together at the moment. Rather than writing nothing, I will write this something, and hope for more at another time.

"You don't have to be great to get started, but you do have to get started to be great."
~Les Brown

Winter

It's winter.
I know that seems kind of obvious--especially with the snow on the ground & the temperature being in the 20s--but it sneaks up on me every year.
And every year I struggle with my love/hate for this season. I usually enjoy the outdoors--for most of the year I would rather eat lunch in the open hatchback of my car than just about anywhere else. But this particular season evokes such strong & conflicting feelings...

I hate being cold.
I love getting to bundle up in the hats & scarves & coats & boots.
I hate that it gets so dark, and so early!
I love how vivid the stars appear in the wintry night sky.
I hate how scary driving gets in this weather.
I love the snowball fights.
I hate scraping the car off anytime I leave it alone for too long.
I love how awake & alive the bracing air makes me feel.
I hate how it gets so cold that just breathing is painful.
I love cuddling with Husband under warm blankets.
I hate the almost-constant grey skies.
I love the muffled silence that comes with every snowfall.
I hate how long it takes my car to warm up.
I love the warm drinks that heat me up after being frozen outside.
I hate the cold winds--"windchill" is an evil abomination created by Satan.
I love how everything looks so much more beautiful with a layer of snow on it.
I hate how dried-out my lips & skin get.
I love getting to experience winter & Christmas & snow as a married gal for the first time ever... getting to see all this with him has been amazing.

I am looking forward to Spring, as I do every year. Had I been born pre-Christ, I very likely would have been a sun-worshiper...

Apathy

Passion is contagious.
So is apathy.
The older I get, the more I realize the truth of the old caution: be careful who you surround yourself with.
It's not because of fear of "guilt by association", but fear of something much less obvious, far more... sinister.
The attitudes of those around me can very easily become my attitude.

Is this why Jesus was so vehement in His decrying of the Lukewarm church in Revelation?
Not only was this church neither cold nor hot, but their apathy was a poison that--left unchecked--could contaminate all the passion around them, the passion of new believers coming to this church would be soured and quenched.

Personally, I tend to be a bit... extreme... in the things I do. I like to throw myself whole-heartedly into life and all therein. But if I lose that excitement, then I swing very much the other direction & I become very difficult to motivate. I do nothing half-way, including apathy--which is why I hate it so much when I find it in myself.

Whenever I realize I've slid into that mentality again... It makes me so angry. Oddly enough, this is a good thing--it's usually when I finally get angry enough to act that the apathy gets burnt in a fire of outrage.

But there's always that stage before, when I am filled with this curious mix of apathy, simmering rage, and bitterness.
Or is that what bitterness is? Apathy and anger mixed with inaction--just stewing and roiling inside, poisoning every interaction and seeping into others? May I never linger long in that place!

I'd rather just get angry, do something, and move on.

A Meditation on Imaginary Friends

It's been so long since I heard her voice--years, in fact.
But now... I think I can, just a little, a faint sighing borne to me on a whispy breeze.
Her voice is so very faint, and the only one I can hear... for now.
Yet, I take heart--at least I can hear something. All is not that awful silence that it was...
The music is coming back... I can feel it in my bones, even if I cannot quite hear it yet.
Hearing is still difficult though, and exhausting at times.
Seeing though, that's a different matter.

She is hidden from me, from everyone who could find her. Shape-shifters can be difficult to find, and she has taken the form of a small black cat with brilliant green eyes. Her eyes is the only thing about her that she cannot completely change in her efforts to flee herself. The golden locks that reminded me of sunshine, the voice filled with laughter that always broke into song, the smile that gave fearless reassurance--all that is gone. But those eyes, green as emeralds, deep with sorrow and pain, they are as they have always been.

There is comfort in knowing some things never change--even if the unchangeable is pain.

The black cat wanders aimlessly, forgetting all that she once was. She remembers no more the battles fought and won, the friends now departed, the lover lost, the quest neglected, even her own name eludes her memory. She truly has given herself up to being no more than a feline. Hunting rodents, evading stones thrown by children, enjoying the occasional scratch behind the ears, and always always roving on--these are the only half-formed "thoughts" that fill her foggy mind now.

Yet, discouraged and silent though she is, she is.
This in itself is a wonder.

The Sport of Stat-Watching

In reviewing the stats on this blog, I've noticed an interesting trend. The two posts that have overwhelmingly taken the lead as far as "most views" are:

Sparrows, in which I ramble shamelessly about my weird delight in a common brown bird (148 views last I checked)
Inspiration, where I write a random story-start in order to get the creative juices flowing... (60 views last count)

It's weird, I didn't even think these two were very good, but they're the most popular on this blog... Apparently a lot of other people like reading about sparrows...?? The internet is a truly bewildering place.

In writing, one of the schools of thought teaches that we are to "write for your audience". This idea is a part of why I am so interested in the statistics provided by blogspot--it gives me an insight about the readers I have... But another school of thought says that we should write for ourselves.

According to the stats, those two cases are not so different as I may have thought. My own brainstorming sessions, unedited and unrefined, are just as interesting to others as they are helpful for me.
Who knew?
I shall have to brainstorm here more often, to share my delight in creating.
In the spirit of inquisitiveness, do you have a favorite post on this blog, your own blog, or any other blog that you'd like to share? Please feel free to!

Breathe

Breathing.
In, and out. The rhythm of life: in and out.
Heart beating,
Pumping the life-blood,
In and out.

Regardless of what comes to us, it will pass away from us as well. The question is: how will we let it pass? Gracefully, with peace and an open hand? Or regretfully, clinging to the merest shred of it, dragging out the inevitable with pain and suffering?

Do I fight to keep it in my life, or do I run away from its presence?
In certain circumstances, neither option is healthy.
In others, either could be commendable.

Everything has its time and place.

Breathe.
In,
and Out.
A breathe held, then released,
Then breathed again.

As temporal beings we are subject to this cyclical law.
What will we find when Time ceases to be?
Will the cycle stop?
Will we stop breathing?
Will our hearts stop beating?
I find such an existence hard to imagine...
Is it so entirely other from what we know that we simply cannot understand right now?
Does that excuse us from trying to understand anyway?

Perhaps the cycle does not cease,
Perhaps we will simply no longer be slaves to the cycle.

"Time is not the boss of me!" ~The Doctor

Will that be true for us someday?

Post-It Inspiration

I have a ... What do you call a cork-board with no cork in it? It's a thingummy on my wall, I can hold paper on it with little thumb-tacks... I have one of those at my office.

Some of the little papers I have tacked up there are business cards, notes to myself on procedures, phone numbers, and the like. But the vast majority of the papers on my board are quotes that I like looking at for a lift during the day.

I tend to get easily discouraged, worn out, bitter, and generally depressed about life. So a lot of the quotations I collect are to combat those tendencies

Some are from friends...
"It's not what they call you that matters, it's what you choose to answer to."
~R.L.K.K.

Some from movies...
"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."
~Alice in Wonderland

Playwrights...
"My mistakes are my life."
~Samuel Beckett

Some are to inspire greatness...
"The only true measure of success is the ratio between what we might have been and what we have become."
~H.G. Wells

Or laughter...
"One of you is gonna fall and die, and I'm not cleaning it up!"
~Captain Malcolm Reynolds

And so much more. When I feel dry & dusty & uninspired, I look over my shoulder at these quotes, and they cause me to think of all who have gone before.
Will anyone look over their shoulder and think of me when they feel uninspired & uncreative, someday?
I want to become that kind of person.

**The title of this post was changed upon realizing that I am a very cliche person when it comes to titles, and had already used "Inspiration" before... whoops... Have I mentioned that I'm not good with titles?**

Faith

Sunshine.
What a beautiful memory,
Blue skies and
Sunshine.
Warm breezes,
Gentle rains
Caressing my upturned face.
Above it all rides the
Sunshine.

Sunshine.
In the winter
It's just a memory,
Relegated to days gone by.
Sunshine
Seems to be no more.
Skies are steely grey
And cold
And I cannot see the
Sunshine.

Sunshine,
It has all fled away,
Chased away
By the driven sleet
And snow.
Sunshine
Beyond my sight
And beyond the feel
Of my upturned face
Burned by frost, wishing for
Sunshine.

Sunshine.
Beyond the bricks,
Beyond these walls,
Behind the clouds,
I know it's somewhere
Out there.
Sunshine.
Through windows I don't have
I imagine I could see,
Clouds that could be pierced
By fiercely joyful
Sunshine.

Sunshine
Will come again.
Perhaps not today,
Perhaps not even tomorrow,
The clouds will be grey,
and the walls will hold fast,
But someday I will see
Sunshine.
I will wait,
Patient, or not,
Chilled to the bone,
But my heart will look forward to
Sunshine.

Blargh

This headcold has really done a number on my wordcount. :P It's hard to concentrate on writing when breathing alone takes so much effort!

Blargh.

That is all.

Whispers

Whisper
Just a whisper
Only a whisper
Through the silence
Cuts through the silence
Silence that has never been broken.

A Voice
That whispers
Only whispers
But such a whisper
That kills the absence of sound
With joy.

Darkness
Utter darkness
Complete darkness
That has never seen light
And does not know
That light even exists
Because it doesn't.

But that whisper!
What does it whisper
That smallest of whispers
The merest of whispering
That very first breaking
Of the greatest Silences
Ever known?

One word
Only one word
Merely one word
It whispers a single
Solitary
Lonely
Vibrant
Word.

LIGHT!

Light!
In the Darkness
And Silence
And Emptiness
The Voice has whispered
A whisper is all that It needs.

Light!
And there is no more darkness
And the silence is shattered
And the Void is filled
By Light
And Joy
And Life
Because of that Voice
And that one whispered word.

Darkness
Is not unopposed
Silence
Is broken
Emptiness
Is filled.

Sorrow
May last for the night,
But the Voice
Brings the Joy
And the Morning.

November 1

I have to write here, otherwise my productivity is nil.
It's disturbing sometimes, how directly my will to do stuff relates to the amount I've written. I've been known to accomplish more in 2 hours after writing than I did the entire week prior--scary stuff, really.

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo! Let the novelling begin! Guess what my wordcount is!

0

No, I didn't stay up until midnight last night to start. I may have started dragging around 9:30, and finally called it quits around 11. But I still have half a day in which to accomplish the 1,667 words allotted for today... plenty of time! :)

I'll let you know if I make it...

In the meantime, if you would like to join me on this venture, head on over to nanowrimo.org and sign up! It's always more fun to do stuff like this with a group of fellow crazies to support you, and they have cool prompts, procrastinator-enablers, and cheerleading going on. You should join us! :)

Now the question becomes: is it possible to write a novel & direct a show in 30 days?
I don't know, but I intend to find out.

Then I'll write a musical about it. ;)

Do you ever have one of those days...?

I feel like my brain is leaking out through my ears today.
My focus is shot, my concentration is done, my willpower is defeated, and my stick-to-itness is outta here.

What was I saying?

I think some of that dense fog that blanketed the area this morning got into my mind & stuck there. I know there is stuff I should be doing, but... for the life of me I cannot form the thought of what they are.

:P

And it's only Wednesday.
I wish my office had windows.

The Hunt

Just a warning, the writing took a bit of a dark turn today. :) Have fun?

~*~

It's there, just like always. I can feel it watching me.
Just out of the corner of my eye.
I turn my head to look at it full on, but--
Woish
It's gone.
But not far, just out of sight.
It's waiting.

It's always there,
Stalking,
Following,
Waiting.
I can feel its appetite, its hunger.
It wants to devour ... my very essence of who I am.
It won't ever stop.
It's so hungry.

I'm never sure what keeps it away.
If I knew, maybe I could always do it.
I'm never sure what drops my guard, and allows it to
Pounce.
If I did,
I would never let it happen.
But it does,
And it pounces,
It rips,
And tears,
And chews,
And laughs.
I still feel the scars from the last time.

The laughter is the worst.
The hopeless despair
That laughter causes
Is worse than the teeth that consume.
It chuckles even now,
Knowing, hearing my frightened heart pounding.

I don't know if escape can be had.
I don't know if a difference can be made.
Will it shy away if
I'm not alone in my fight?
Will it lose me if
I run forever?
Is there anything
That can kill this
Creature that thirsts for my life?

My weapon is heavy in my hand.
It sings a soothing lullaby,
But it's not sleep it beckons me toward.

Grit, determination, stubbornness, even pride,
All these keep me from falling
To its every attack.
Too gritty to chew,
Too determined to win and not fail,
Too stubborn to allow it to succeed,
Too proud to admit defeat.
If it can use my strengths against me,
I can use my flaws against it.

~*~

That was actually kind of fun. Well, it was for me. ;) Thanks for sticking around! :)

Snowflakes

It snowed today. Just flurries, nothing that stuck, but still.
It snowed. Today. :P

I do like snow, but I'm seriously perturbed that it was cold enough to snow today. Seriously, where did Fall go? It's not like this is Minnesota, or near the Great Lakes, where I would expect that kind of thing.

It was cold enough to snow today.

If the weather is going to be cold enough to facilitate snow, then I do think it should have the decency to look pretty too. In that fashion I am a huge fan of snow--it makes winter bearable, and gives something beautiful to look forward to in the midst of the chill.

I think the reason I don't like winter is because people insist that I maintain a certain level of constructivity (spellcheck says that's not a word, I say I just made a new one...) that runs counter to my body's natural tendencies. When I'm cold I want to hibernate--huddled under a blanket, buried in a chair/couch, drinking chocolate something-or-other, and reading. That's all I want out of life when it turns cold.

But the world says no. It tells me I must come out from the warmth and put on real clothes, swap out my slippers for boots, and my books for a coat.
Then I have to go outside?! Evils abound in this world. Not only must I leave my cocoon, I must also leave my dwelling-place and actually walk out into the frigid air and sometimes ice?!
AND be a contributing member of society!

I know, I whine too much. That's another reason I dislike the chill, it makes me whiny.

*Cue the tears & violins*

Ah first-world problems, aren't we lucky to have them?

Yeah, I feel duly ashamed of myself for my rant, but I'm posting it anyway. Humility is good for the soul, right?

I am glad I have someone to cuddle with this winter.
<3 p="">

That itch

I think I know what story to go with, and now that I do that itch has begun...
My fingers itch.
But my mind is shrinking away from the ideas, for fear of failing this story yet again.

Before November comes though, I have so many questions to answer!

Most of those questions will probably be answered by filling out character sheets, but there are some serious plot holes that need to be resolved too... And I keep wandering off into daydreams that don't really help with any of that--the scenes I see might not even be happening in this first story!

I see a ragged band of survivors, creeping through the undergrowth in a forest where the very trees might betray them.
I see onlookers cowering close to the ground as two dragons fight in the sky above them--roaring loud enough to shake the mountains, spewing fire at each other, tangling in each others claws and teeth. Drops of blood spatter onto the ground far below, sizzling where it falls.
I see a dying woman, smiling up at the man she loves--a man who only remembered her mere days before. He cries bitterly as the light of life fades from her eyes. Her last whisper to him: "I will wait for you."
Two children race through a forest, laughing and shouting from sheer joy. The girl has golden hair and dancing blue eyes; the boy has black hair and deep brown eyes.The note of a bell chimes out through the woods, and they turn in their path to run toward it.
A tree grows from a platform built in the center of a town built in love. Its trunk is out of reach from the bottom of this platform, but the branches sweep low to offer the fragrance of its flowers. Passerby lovingly reach up and pluck fruit off the branches as they walk by, murmuring thanks to the tree.
A group of sleepers in a cave, with one man sitting awake at the mouth while he keeps watch. The night is quiet, and peace seems to have furtively stolen in. The man smiles at the seed he holds in his hand, a seed that seems to emanate a soft glow and a quiet heartbeat.
The road seems deserted but for the grizzled one-eyed warrior. His single orb scans the skies, and a smile creases his cheeks when he sees the raven circling above. A sharp whistle pierces the air as he raises an arm, the raven caws in response as it descends.

Uffda...

What to Novel About?!

NaNoWriMo is coming, it's only 10 days & some odd hours away...

I should probably figure out what I will write about.

Not necessarily the whole plot of the story--where's the fun in knowing ahead of time what will happen?--but I need at least a spark of an idea, a glimmer, a character, something to get the process started.

And I have so many plot ideas.
No really, it's unreal how many books are in my head right now. And not necessarily in a good way. :S

~*~
There's the girl whose parents die in a fire that she manages to survive when a mere infant, raised by a priestess of Ad'ny. She wanders the worlds in search of her purpose, watching her friends find their gifts while she discovers mediocre talent in everything she attempts. Then she finds a purpose when a prophet tells her she must find ... something. A word is given, but no definition.

There's also the woman who was born to a world without pain, death, or sickness. She reveled in song and laughter, until her people began to rip themselves and their world apart from the inside out. Sorrowing over what they had become, she and others of her kind watched as their home was destroyed and they were cast adrift, cursed with endless life to wander the stars in search of the hurts of others that were compelled to mend.

The man whose father sacrificed him to a dark deity in order to gain control of a world. His spirit was rescued by a shrouded woman who took him as an apprentice, and she led him into battle against the very forces his father sacrificed him to--and against his own father.

The woman whose village fear the cold-blooded beasts of the mountain; the dragon whose tribe loathes the hateful apes of the valley; and the friendship they aspire to.

The broken romance of a bird-woman that leaves her and her fledgling shunned and heartsick.

The red-haired thief, rescued from her prison in a tall tower by a man with a phoenix.

Half eastern dragon, half woman, and all cunning--traveling through the western lands is dangerous with scales.

In a Steam-Punk world: An oni-hunter leaves Japan in pursuit of a spirit that is plaguing the dreams of children. Their dreams are of a far-flung star that is drawing nearer, and is populated by bloodthirsty monsters. But is this yokai an oni, or is it just trying to warn them of something darker that is coming?

Inspired by the table-top game "Brass&Steel": in pre-WWI, the Aztec Empire never fell, it conquered. The reach of the Elite Jaguar Forces has stalled, but only for a lack of knowledge. The Emperor sends out the Ocelot Warriors--a secret task force known to none outside the Aztec lands, but held in highest regard by those who know they exist. The Ocelots are prized for their cunning, adaptability, intelligence, and insight. They have been given the task of discovering all they can about the outside world, instigating a disturbance that will keep the eyes of others distracted from the Empire, and learning how best the Aztecs might further the cause of their Emperor.
~*~

And that's all without looking at my past notebooks... no shortage of ideas here.
Do you have a favorite from any of the above? Anything you would like to see written more about? If so, please let me know--I'd love to hear from you!

November is Coming!

There is an event coming next month that I have been hearing about for years, but have never participated in.

NaNoWriMo
aka: National Novel Writing Month

The idea is that during the month of November I would take one of the myriad of story ideas whirling around in this brain and put pen to paper--committing 50,000 words to paper (or computer, whatever) over the course of 30 days & 30 nights. These words don't have to be edited (thank goodness!!), and they don't have to be the full story, but all 50,000 have to be written over the course of the month of November.

And you thought not shaving was a challenge. :P

It sounds amazing, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. There is a website to sign up at, to feel supported by others in the writing community, to cheer each other on, read excerpts of each others work, etc. You can find the event pretty easily with a web search if you don't already know about it. :)

This year, this year I think I shall attempt this feat of authorship.
one thing is for sure, it will encourage me to post on here more often! I will put updates & snippets of story, as well as stories about writing up here... if I remember...

SO yeah, will you be participating in NaNoWriMo?
Happy writing!

Song Lyrics

I heard some song lyrics in the car today--I have no idea what the song was (even the genre--I listen to the mixed station that plays everything from country to metal), or who the singer was. I couldn't even sing you the chorus, because I came in at the end of the song.

But what I heard, stuck. If you know who this is or what the song is, please tell me!

The lyrics I remember (it was a few hours ago, sorry!):

"You don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid."

There was also something about lions make you brave & giants give you faith (which is really cool too), but those words smacked me across the face & grabbed me in a hug that hasn't let go yet.

You don't have to feel safe
To feel unafraid.

Just think on that for a moment, let that one sink in.
Look at the difference:

Safe.
Unafraid.

The first is where we go to rest, to breathe, to let the world slip by while we recuperate from the battle & lick our wounds.

But the second--that's where we live.
It's where we sing, dance, laugh, and love--all from that deep place in the gut that life itself flows from.
It's where we wrestle with God, as Jacob did, and where we are blessed.
It's where we fight, and strive, and glory.

God did not call us to be safe.
But He did tell us not to fear.
To be bold.

Please don't misunderstand me--I think the Church should be one of the safest places in this world. It should be the safest place short of Heaven that any human soul finds. The Church should be a place of comfort, solace, joy, peace--a place where the wounded can come to have the love of Christ manifest in His people binding their wounds and salving their hearts.
I know that it's not.
That knowing drives me mad with sorrow, and it drives me to make myself into that safe haven for other people.

But I want to be a safe place. That doesn't mean I want safety for myself.
Love is not safe.
But it is good.
To love others is to be unafraid in stepping outside the safety that keeps us from hurt--to reach out to those that are hurting and expose myself to their pain.

So yeah, you don't have to be safe to be unafraid.
I like that song.

Musicals

I'm directing a musical.

It's a children's Christmas musical at the church that I attend--and the kids I work with are wonderful, and the story is amazing. And it's got me thinking about a lot of things, and remembering a lot of things, and wondering...

How did this happen?

No really, I'm not a musical person.

I didn't think so, at least.
But, while thinking back, I realized...
Maybe I am.
Why not?
Sure. :)

The first musical I distinctly remember being a part of was called something like "Candy Cane Lane"... I think. I was 7 or 8, and my family lived on a little military base in New Mexico. It was the kids' Christmas musical of the Protestant Chapel, and our director was a lady we all called Miz Teresa (with no H!).

That dear lady is what I think of whenever I hear the term "fierce".

Don't misunderstand me--I loved her to pieces, and I know all the other kids did too! And she loved us--fiercely. She did everything with so much vim & vigour that she just tickled all of us, she awed us with her passion and joy. I think that might have been part of her secret, she out-ran all of us, and what kid doesn't respect that?

I distinctly remember one story Miz Teresa told us that still fills me with respect and awe to this day. We were all of us feeling especially flighty and rowdy that day, and she felt that she needed to instill some good-old-fashioned fear of the Lord into us. So she got us all set down for a stern talking-to.

She told us the story of the Old Testament priests, and the temple, and how the Israelites worshiped at this temple. She told us about how the Temple was divided into three sections: the outer court, the Holy Place, and the Holy of Holies--or the Most Holy Place. She then broke this down for us.

The Outer Court, she told us, was the place that the Gentiles--non-Israelites--were allowed. That was as far as they could go, but they could worship from there. In our modern-day churches, this might be compared to our foyer, where we all have a good time and laugh and fellowship (she liked that word). The Outer Court was kind of like that for the Israelites--where they could buy and sell, and mingle and fellowship.

The Holy Place though, that was for worship. That was special--like our Sanctuary. (Here she gazed over her glasses at us sternly.) The Israelites only let those who were lawfully clean into the Holy Place.

And the Holiest of Holies? That was where the Ark of the Covenant was kept. (I don't know if I even knew what that was at the time, but her reverence when she spoke of it impressed me.) That was where God lived with His people, before Jesus came to the earth, and His presence was filled with power.
The Holiest of Holies was filled with so much power that the High Priest was the only person who went into it, and even then he only did once a year to pray for the nation. Even so, they tied a rope and a bell around his ankle, just in case he wasn't right with God & being in His presence killed him!

Then she compared the Holiest of Holies to the portion of the Sanctuary where the chaplain preached from.

In retrospect, I realize that it might be questioned whether that was the best story to share with a group of children, and I'm sure my memory has skewed the presentation in some way (it usually does), but boy howdy did she get her point across! I never acted without reverence around the pulpit again.

It is worth noting, that Miz Teresa managed to get the point across without making me afraid. I was never afraid that God would strike me dead if I acted out in church. Why would he? The only people He did that to were the hypocrites who were arrogant enough to intentionally enter His presence without recognizing His authority and power. The people who not just didn't love Him, but who rejected Him & were trying to lead others astray. I wasn't afraid because of what Miz Teresa told us, but I had a lot more respect for God and those places set aside for us to meet with Him. Even now, I feel a sense of awe and quiet whenever I enter a church's sanctuary, especially ones that resemble that church in New Mexico.

And no, my enthusiasm for the show was not dampened. I still volunteered for as much stage time as I could! I was originally cast as the chocolate drop (I was not excited about wearing brown) with no lines, but I managed to wriggle my way into being a bubble-blower, a dancer, and when one of my friends got a case of stage fright for her solo I stepped up and said I would sing with her--just so she wouldn't be scared, of course! ;) I wasn't scared, I stood up there with her and belted that duet out with pure delight at being center-stage.

I might have been weirdly attention-hungry, for such a painfully shy little kid.