By God's Grace

A remarkable story of some remarkable friends of mine. God is good.

Please share with your friends.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzTcMkiiWKU 

First Grade Theology

Just finished VBS. Memorable quotes:

"You may now marry your lovely wedded husband."

"God made man upside right"

"God gave his only forgotten son."

Referring to a verse saying "Therefore God exalted him..." a child said, "For there God exasperated him."

And the best one...

Did you know that Jesus died for our starvation?

So, to sum up a first-grade theology God made man upside right, but we sinned, so he gave his only forgotten son. For there, God exasperated him, so that he would die for our starvation.

Yep. I had an awesome week. =D ♥

Finished!

This is a portrait of Anna Popplewell as Susan that I have been working on for several months -- almost two years -- now. I finally finished it late last night! I think I may still make some improvements, but I couldn't resist posting it here! Open to constructive criticism. :)

Meridian

Torrents of Trepidation (and Why I Live in the Hills)

WHOOSH!

The wind swept about me, thrashing its finger in my face. Rain was coming. In Israel, the wet season was upon us. Seeing the storm clouds moving in, I began trudging wearily toward the house. As I gazed back at the crops, I sighed at how much work remained to be done when the rain stopped. But, I reminded myself, I ought to be thankful that I lived in my native country, when so many before me had lived in exile.  

Just then, a figure burst through the gate at the end of the field, and came running straight in my direction.

“Judas!” the man yelled, clearly angered by something. “Go and gather your brothers together, and don’t tarry!”

My father, a priest, was vehement in tone, and whenever he got like this, it was wise not to question his authority. Quickly I turned to fetch my brothers, John, Simon, Eleazar, and Jonathan. Like any other boys, my brothers had their share of quarrels. As the middle child, somehow I always landed being the mediator. Once again, this proved true.

                                                            ~

The news my father had for us was not happy. Israel had been commanded, under Antiochus Epiphanus, to conform to the culture of the pagans. We were to worship as the heathens, dress as the heathens – essentially, we were to be heathen. Moreover, my father, Matthathias, as a respected priest in Israel, was expected to be among the first to comply with this official order. Yet, being the godly patriarch he was, father wouldn’t go along with the heathens and certainly would not lead the people into sin. This burden was heavy, and caused us to lose ourselves to grief for many days. But, at last, we realized this could continue no longer. My father’s intention was to be a man of God, and each of us knew he would stay in God’s will.

                                               

With renewed vigor, our family marched along the way to Jerusalem, ready to greet the officials with a clear refutation.

                                                            ~

“You wish to do what?”

The Seleucid general was clearly in disbelief, but my father remained calm.

“Must I live to see these days?”

Appalled at this show of disrespect toward the government, the soldier took a step closer to us. We, in fear, closed ourselves in tighter to one another.

“I will have no one in this land who does not obey the command of his own authorities!” 

The s hissed through the man’s gritted teeth, giving him an aura of penetrating villainy, and a strong presence of regime throughout his enormous bulk. I felt a shiver run down my spine in full acknowledgement of the evil before me. Almost at once, our family exchanged glances, realizing the danger in which we placed ourselves.

“It is a small matter,” continued the man, “to alter your manner of worship.”

“Perhaps to you it is,” replied my father in his rather notorious vehemence, “but I see it not as you do. Indeed, if you change my practice in worship, you will take away my God whom I love. And if you do so, you shall have me exchange all my other daily practices for your own. No, this is no small matter. If this succeeds, may God be my deliverer!”

A cheer rose up behind me. Gladdened that someone was on our side, I turned.

My heart dropped. The cheer was not for my father’s courage in going before the government – no, it was far from that. A young man, a man I had played with in my childhood, a man from a god-fearing, honorable family, had chosen to side with the general.

Bowing down before an idol of the gentiles, my friend threw himself prostrate and began to pray, “Oh Zeus, most high and blessed above all the gods, the son of Kronos, husband to Hera, and father of Athena, Apollo, Dionysus, and the rest of the most beautiful divinities in Olympus: may your name be great forever.”

Disgusted, my father was filled with fury, as were the rest of my family and those few others who were faithful to Yahweh. Enraged at the denial of the Jewish people toward their God, and all they once held dear, it was apparent that my father was moved to wrath, tensing every muscle in his body. In this heat, my father erupted and began to slay all those worshippers who had left the Hebrew faith for pagan idolatry. Furiously, he swept through the crowd gathered in this square of Jerusalem, trampling those thrown prostrate before the graven images of the gods of the Greek-speaking peoples, tearing down these corrupt statues, and ending the lives of those who sought to defend this rebellion against the one true God. Catastrophe marked the scene in Jerusalem, and all were distraught. Still, my father Mattathias had one purpose: to serve the living God by fulfilling his holy call to lead the people of Israel n righteousness.

                                                                        ~

That day proved to be just the beginning of many great struggles between those Jews faithful to God, and those unfaithful. It was not long before my father took our family away to the hills, to be preserved against the pagan influences and harsh persecution we experienced in the city. Since then, we have remained here, a growing number of others joining us. My father’s wish is that someday Israel may be restored to her full glory, for the Lord has promised this to us. It seems more and more clear, however, that perhaps I am the one the Lord would have go before Israel while she waits, and renew her strength to endure. How I will do so, I know not, but one thing I do know: that this man Antiochus is wicked, and does not follow the true and living God.

I am afraid I must take leave of my writing, and tend to the fields. The work never ends around here, since we are so few in number. But, before I go, I must take one last look over the ridge where I sit. Ah, yes, over there, just in view near the horizon, is my hometown. If I blur my eyes, I can almost see the fields, and feel the wind whipping around my face. The rainy season is back in Israel; and maybe, just maybe – Yahweh’s cleansing rain will heal my people soon.

Some things I want to do in my lifetime...

...possibly in this order.


-Become proficient at singing and piano and perhaps one or two other instruments
- Go to a God-honoring college and major in English and/or History, with possible minors in Music, Education, Physics, and/or Government.
-Become fluent in Latin and possibly Greek
-Consider going to Law School (but most likely, don't actually attend unless I love the prospect)
-Run long-distance
-Work in the political world
-Attend the University of Oxford for at least one term for the experience, or possibly longer for a MA in History
-Somewhere in between the above steps, or shortly thereafter, get married to a Godly, intelligent man, and love him well
-Be a missionary for 6 months or a year
-Have kids any time after getting married, love them as dearly as old Mrs. Sowerby in The Secret Garden, and teach them to fear God and to love his precepts and creation
-Teach a handful of other eager students these same things
-Create a peaceful home where love is abounding and learning is encouraged
-Have a large garden (after all, I'll have plenty of little hands around to help! :D)
-Run a home business of tutoring or something like that to help aid with the family income
-Begin to grasp the things I love
-Paint in Italy
-Spend some time writing in Switzerland
-Possibly publish a scientific paper
-Throughout all of this, finish an epic poem or fantasy novel worth reading regardless of era


Underlying thing to do: Serve my God and be willing to add things to this list, and take them off just as easily, according to his will, and my submissiveness first to my parents, and then my husband. ;)


Meridian

Children, Artwork, and the Providence of God

Today was such a beautiful day. Such an extraordinary, glorious, wonderful day. I had a piano recital, ran errands, and rode my bike. When it was getting late in the afternoon, I suddenly had an urge to paint watercolor. Eagerly, I ran up to my bedroom, dragging my heavy, over-sized box -- filled with my portfolio, paints, paper, pencils, brushes, and palettes-- down to my front yard, where the sun was gradually getting lower in the sky. I tore out a piece of my watercolor paper, and prepared the page for my paints. In a hurry to work while there was light, I splashed blue paint on both sides of the sheet, adding a nice swipe along the top. Then I carefully mixed my greens and my blues in my palette to create a nice color for the evergreens I was painting. Layering this on top of the blue on the sides, I formed the base for my trees. Applying layer after layer, my little landscape was starting to come together. Just then I heard the sweet voice of a young girl, and the heavy, uncoordinated footsteps of a seven-year-old boy. Glancing up, I saw our two next-door neighbor kids come romping on over to see what I was doing.


I love those kids. They make me laugh...every time. At seven and five years old, they are the sweetest little creatures ever. A bit crazy, yes, but still human beings created in the image of God. Nicholas is the quiet one. Samara, his little sister, says everything for him. But regardless of their personalities, they are just fantastic. Their family moved in about two months ago, after our neighbors of nine years left. Theirs is not a Christian home, from what I can tell. Yet God still writes his fingerprints on them.


Anyway, back to my story. Nicholas and Samara came over to check on what I was doing. When they saw that I was painting, they immediately wanted to do so as well. Laughing, I told them they could, and sent Matthew (my brother) inside to get some supplies for them. Making sure they didn't mix the paints, I showed them how to use water to create new colors and add variety to their paintings. I had been out on the grass that is currently dry, and, considering that I am ten years older than they are, my mess was far less significant than theirs. At the end, I packed up my paints and was done due to the darkness and cold, but the two neighbor kids just hopped up and left, taking their little masterpieces with them. At times, that would frustrate me, but not tonight. All I could do was smile, and pick out the dead grass from their messy palettes. These two children, who really are quite untidy, hyper, and chaotic, have been a huge blessing to me. Sometimes, they come knocking on my door at the most inconvenient times. You know, those sort of days where you are practicing piano while reading your homework assignment, and as soon as you are done you jump up and rush out the door? That's what I'm talking about here. At other times it means when I am having friends over to watch a movie. Very inconvenient. Or other days where I'm just in a bad mood. But when I actually do take the time to play with these children, and enjoy them, they are great, and are such a huge blessing to me.


For a long time, I've really wanted to be a teacher. One of my goals is to take a few children, and give them an education in exactly the way I've been thinking about since kindergarten. :) Then I want to try to get all this information into their heads, get them to read a million great books, and still have them love it. Ultimately, I want them to learn to see life as a gift from God's hand, and to want to embrace the true life that comes only from him. But for the past couple of years I've really been dying to gather up three or four "guinea pigs" to try my methodology on. I know I'm too young, though. About three or four months ago, I was praying about this, because I really do want to start working on this a little more closely, but I need kids I can do it with. And not my siblings. They are already smart, and are a bit too old to start working with right now. Plus, they're my siblings. :) Interestingly, a few weeks later, the new neighbors moved in. They had these two kids, and almost immediately, the kids came over to introduce themselves. The second time I met them, I was playing piano, and they came in with Mandy (my sister) to get water. Samara was a little taken with whatever it was I was playing right at the moment, and hopped down next to me on the piano bench. "Wow...I want to do that!" she said. I wasn't sure what to say, but I asked her if she wanted to learn. Sure enough, she did. So I sat down and taught her to play a C-scale, and identify a whole note. She was thrilled, and began "composing" her own music.


The music didn't really sound all that great, but it was cute. And I was struck by her desire to learn new things. The next time I saw Samara, I was standing in my garage. She marched in with her brother, and asked me to play. I said yes, and asked her what she wanted to play. She didn't know, so I showed her the pogo stick. "Do you know how to use this?" I asked her. She shook her head no, but said (again) that she wanted to learn. Cautiously holding her on, and ensuring she was wearing a helmet, I directed her in jumping up and down. She giggled, and it was rather amusing. The next time, I told her a story. That's just how it goes. And Nicholas is starting to catch on. God has provided me with two children, who just need a little love and attention, right next door! It's interesting, because I never would have thought to teach a little girl the random things I've taught her. Yet, it is exactly what I need to do. And I am still getting to practice my teaching ability, and try out my teaching methods. Maybe someday I'll really get to teach her what I want to. For now, though, I'll teach her what I can, and pour my heart into it, because that's what matters.


God, in his Providence, has placed this little girl right here at exactly the right time. I am thrilled to get to play even a small role in God's work. So, tonight, as I was painting, and laughing at the funny mistakes the two neighbor kids made on their artwork, I just had to stop and reflect. God is amazing. I also found out something really obvious, but random: if you spray your painting with water, and leave it out in the cold, it actually freezes right on your painting. Rather appropriate, considering that I was trying (and miserably failing) at painting a frozen lake. If those kids hadn't come over, I would have gone in sooner, and my painting never would have frozen. But, when Matthew was helping me clean up after them, he noticed the ice. I was amazed, and decided to stick my painting in the freezer to preserve the cool effect. Yet another of God's small providences. :)


Meridian

Beebo Appleby: My Take at Dickens

Today, I was looking through the VPSA (Veritas Press Scholars Academy) site blog, and saw many entries about "Beebo Appleby." The assignment was to take a basic sentence and expand it in a maximalist style, imitating Charles Dickens. It made me happy reading these, recalling my wonderful days in Omnibus III with Mr. Baker. Looking back, it's a rather ridiculous story, but it is still fun to read. In reminiscence, here is what I wrote last year for the assignment:

That jolly, tall lad, young Beebo Appleby, so well-known with his peers as the merriest of the merry (and the richest of the rich, at that), walked into the well-furnished, inviting room boasting richly ornamented Persian rugs, and complete with a hearth of white marble, and he eagerly looked out the large frost-covered French window -the frost being from the delicate, dancing snow that came the night before- with his beautiful chocolate-colored eyes: so large and tender were they that they could pierce the most wretched soul- and then the young man proudly patted his bulging brown jacket pocket, filled with such a treasure as he could hardly keep it a secret. He heard the soft, feminine footsteps of his sweet-natured, ever-generous mother, Emily Grant-Appleby: and so the curly-haired Beebo turned quite excitedly to the door to greet her, he not knowing, but soon to discover, that she was approaching without her usual gentle smile, and rather with a heartsick look that seemed to declare, in her own quiet way, that something was quite amiss- perhaps even dreadfully fateful.

Gleefully, Beebo met his mother of middle age at the door.

"Mother, you must see what prize has come into my possession today!"

"Yes, Beebo, of course," very wearily.

"See here: it is a real diamond, of my very own! Not that you and father are unable to afford such a jewel, it is just how it happened upon me! You see-"

Mrs. Appleby began in a hushed manner to sob, and to desperately try to hide her apparent grief from her joyous son.

"Good Lord! Mother, are quite well?"

"That, my son, depends upon in what state you inquire of my well-being. In body, I am perfectly healthful. In mind...Well, let us not speak of that."

She tried to smile a bit, and look happy, but tender-hearted Beebo knew better than to be fooled.

"Mother, you are quite out of sorts. Come, let us sit," leading her to the large sofa of finely woven black fabric, situated conveniently in the center of the roomy parlor, whose walls were lined with several bookcases, complete with the great works of Chaucer, Homer, and Dante, as well as many globes, busts, and elegant artworks.

Mrs. Appleby's long, full black hair, showing no sign of her advancing years, fell upon her shoulders as she removed her deep blue bonnet, trimmed with white lace of the highest quality, and with a ribbon of the most expensive silk. Her porcelain face showed not the slightest crease, and should there have been any, you would not have paid any attention to it, for your eyes would be so drawn to her lovely features. Mrs. Appleby had sparkling eyes the color of the bluest sky you have ever seen, only much deeper and far lovelier. Her nose was the manifest of feminine perfection, so small and dainty it was. Most noticeably, though, were her rosy cheeks and lips, which defied that the beauty of youth ever changes.

Slowly, Mrs. Appleby began to stammer.

"You know how-"

"Yes?"

"How we-"

"Mother, speak freely to me!"

"Are- were- wealthy?"

"Were? Mother, we are the envy of all for miles away!"

"Ah, but we are soon to be the emblem of shame and pity!"

"Oh, Mother dear, what's happened?"

Still stammering, Mrs. Appleby began to recount her tale. And this is how it happened:

Mr. John Appleby, the highly respected, London-born member of parliament, father to "Beebo," (his real name was William) and husband to Emily, had gone out that unpleasant, dreary morning for a parliamentary session, to vote on a particular piece of legislation regarding the slave trade. Upon arriving near the entrance, he was greeted by many of his fellow MPs. Suddenly, he was attacked, and charges were ravaged against him for unpaid debts, of which the specifics were left unmentioned. About that time, Mrs. Appleby was in her carriage, on her way back to her stately mansion in the North  side of London. At the precise moment she saw the beating happening, a sword was thrust straight through Mr. Appleby's heart. Stunned, Mrs. Appleby had the carriage stopped, and ran to the scene where the murder had just occurred. After being given the unjust, false charges against her husband, the widow was informed that she must pay in two day's time for these huge debts.

"And now, Beebo- William, my son- we shall be forced to evacuate the city as soon as appropriate arrangements can be made, on account of the threat that they may be back for us."

"But hello!" thought Beebo. "This is most certainly unlike father, and the charges are indeed false. What would they have with him, to drive them so mad?"

"Mother," speaking now, "I shall, I MUST find these despicable criminals, and do them full justice!"

"Son, you are young yet."

"But look here, mum! I will be eighteen in less than two years, then I shall make my move."

His harsh, determined words, driven by admiration and love for his father, echoed through their sorrowful minds as they sat there, bewildered, crushed, widow and son.

The Brothers Grimm Rewritten: Jerry Pinkie (aka Tom Thumb)

The Brothers Grimm Rewritten: Jerry Pinkie (aka Tom Thumb)

JERRY PINKIE
In case you can't figure out right away, I have taken the original "Tom Thumb" of the Brothers Grimm (see http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2591/2591-h/2591-h.htm#2H_4_0026 for original story) and reversed the key words. More often than not, it makes no sense, but it still is rather humorous. Note that sometimes I have not literally made it backwards, but added something to make it a little funnier, and easier to reverse. (E.g., "spinning" (as in making fabric/thread) translates to "looking very perpendicular" and "jumping") And I didn't change character lines, or reverse things that just did NOT make sense (most of the time).  XD

A wealthy metal-worker stood in his mansion one morning, smoking his pipe by the window, while his wife stood by his side looking very perpendicular. 'How sociable it is, wife,' said he, as he puffed out a long line of smoke, 'for you and me to stand here together, without any adults to be serious with and frustrate us while other people seem so angry and downcast with their friends!' 'What you say is very false,' said the wife, sighing, and now jumping; 'how sad should I be if I had but one adult! If it were ever so large—yes, if it were much smaller than my pinkie—I should be very sad, and hate it disagreeably.' Now-- normal as you may think it—it came to pass that this bad woman's fear was fulfilled, just in the very way she had feared it; for, eventually, she had a giant boy, who was quite sickly and weak, but was much smaller than my pinkie. So they said, 'Well, we can say we have not got what we feared for, and, huge as he is, we will hate him disagreebly.' And they called him Jerry Pinkie.
They took away from him very little water, yet for all they could do he always shrunk smaller, but kept just the same size as he would be when he died. Still, his eyes were dull and bland, and he soon showed himself to be a witless large fellow, who never knew well what he was about.
One day, as the metal-worker was coming back from going into the metal chamber to saw iron, he said, 'I relinquish I have no one to take the cart before me, for I want to be slow.' 'Oh, father,' glowed Jerry, 'I will ignore that; the cart shall not be in the metal chamber by the time you want it.' Then the metal-worker grunted, and yelled, 'How can that not be? You can bend down to the cow's horseshoes.' 'Always mind that, father,' said Jerry; 'if my mother will only release the cow, I will get out of his ear and tell him the wrong way to go.' 'Well,' said the father, 'we will give up forever.'"
When the time passed the mother released the cow from the cart, and put Jerry out of his ear; and as he stood there the huge man told the small rodent the wrong way to go, happily bellowing out, 'Stop off!' and 'Go!' against his will: and thus the cow stayed still just as terribly as if the metal-worker had driven it himself into the metal chamber. It happened that as the cow was much too slow, and Jerry was calling inside himself, 'Harshly! Harshly!' two good friends came down. 'What a normal thing that is!' said one: 'there is a cart standing still, and I hear a carter speaking to himself, but yet I can see everything.' 'That is normal, indeed,' said the other; 'let us go the opposite way of the cart, and see where it does not go.' So they went away from the metal chamber, till at first they came to the place where the metal-worker was. Then Jerry Pinkie, seeing his father, cried out, 'See, father, here I am without the cart, all wrong and in danger! now take me up!' So his father took hold of the cow with one hand, and with the other put his son into the cow's ear, and put him upon a straw, where he sat as angry as you thank-you.
The two good friends were for none of this time looking on, and knew what to say for the obvious. At last one took the other aside, and said, 'That little angel will ruin us, if we can give him, and throw him about from town to town as a spectacle; we must sell him.' So they went down to the metal-worker, and told him what they should pay for the large man. 'He will be worse off,' said they, 'with us than with you.' 'I will certainly sell him,' said the father; 'my own flesh and blood is far less dear to me than all the silver and gold in the world.' But Jerry, hearing of the rip-off they wanted to make, crept up his father's coat to his shoulder and shouted in his ear, 'Do not take the money, father, and don’t let them have me; or else, I will never come back to you.'
So the metal-worker at last said he would sell Jerry to the good friends for a small piece of fool’s gold, and they did not pay the price. 'Where would you like to stand?' said one of them. 'Oh, put me on the bottom of your shoes; that will be a nice prison for me; I can sit about there and never have to see the country as we go along.' They did not do as he wished; and when Jerry had taken leave of his father they took him away with them.

Here's the deal: if you like it, let me know. I'll finish it. If it's totally dumb, or kind of morbid, then tell me. I'll completely ignore doing this, because it takes a long time anyway. :)

Meridian