Sunday, November 28, 2004
Now imagine that you're looking in a mirror. What do you see? Are you pleased with the reflection? If your answer was yes then please discontinue reading this article. If you are even slightly displeased with the glass in front of you, by all means read on! This one is for you.
Now imagine that by some strange violation of the laws of nature, the mirror has transformed into a simple sheet of glass. And what do you think? Out of all the people in the world, the most beautiful is on the other side staring back at you. There is surprise-even shock on her face. You stare at her in astonishment for what seems like an eternity.
Finally you force yourself into action. Slowly you lift your hand and whatch as the woman on the other side raises hers. You had meant to touch the glass, but by its own volition your hand reaches your face and touches your cheek. Your mind races when you see the woman before you going through the same moves. Her face is now nearly stunning in its shocked and strangly curious expression. Slowly understanding is coming to her brilliant eyes.
You tap the glass. She is doing the same! It must be true! The glass is a mirror and you have become the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth! You are shouting with glee as you jump up with the intention of dancing the most beautiful jig (if there is such a thing) when suddenly you jerk to your senses. It was a dream.
You must have relaxed a little too much.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Despite these daunting circumstances, I boldly walked across Judy's lawn and out to the street . On account of Thanksgiving the high school kids had been released early, so I had the entire sidewalk to myself. Lovely!
"It really is a beautiful day." I told myself as I trudged down the street and started singing a song to myself. I took strange delight in splashing through whatever looked the least bit splashy (actually just about everything looked that way).
When I was on my second block and my second movie soundtrack, I was suddenly confronted by a wonder! Out of the gray a gleam of white forced itself upon my senses. Then I realized what it was and would have invented a puddle jig on the spot if I had had time, for there was my dear teacher gesturing to me from the interior of her beautiful white automobile! Without another thought I jumped in and rode the rest of the way to the Lynden Library feeling as if I was Cinderella. I arrived wet, but none the worse for wear!
I love you Judy! You're my proof that angels really do roam the earth.
Has anyone ever gotten so caught up in preparations, and family, and everything under the sun, then suddenly remembered what the day is for, stopped, tried to think seriously about it only to get swept away in a whirlwind of pumpkin pie and stuffing in a moment??
I don't think anyone doesn't know what I mean, but what if this day is more than just one day devoted to thankfulness. Maybe its so much more than that--a day to remember for the rest of the year. This time perhaps could be a primer that gets our focus centered on God and keeps it strong and true to Him.
Well, I have an opportunity only 24 hours away to dive into a day and make it matter forever after.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Four days ago I passed from "sweet sixteen" to "sour seventeen", as several wise people have already informed me. Although I'm not completely convinced that they speak rightly, it does inspire in me a nagging fear that it may indeed be true. For many people the passing of another birthday is abhorent for it reminds them that they are not so slowly, and surely aging. For myself it has never been so. For instince, sixteen sounds, feels, smells, tastes, and most of the time looks quite young, and all ages before it are nothing to speak of. But seventeen--pardon my language--Seventeen.....is Scary. Um, does this mean that I have to be mature?? Oh dear.
Ah well, I have determined to mark this new year of my life with a novel and exciting undertaking which you must know......is this blog! I trust that my readers will bear with this poor specimen of a writer and glean at the very least some amusement from my striving.