"Heads or Tails": Chapter One, Part One [Edited]

[Author's note:  This opening has changed rather a bit.  I decided that the opening I had originally written gave the wrong focus, the wrong impression.  The first major re-write of the opening had lost all the charm of the first draft; I've been able to write a little of that back, but not to the full measure.  I don't know that I'll post any more of the story unless requested, maybe a piece here or there, so enjoy.  P.S.  For those who've been reading these posts in order, Matt wanted to stay a Matt; Richard is gone -- for the most part.]

  "Heads we get married, tails we break up."  The goofy grin slid back on his face, and he raised his eyebrows.

   "What?" said Annabelle.

   "That's the opening."

   "How do you figure?" Annabelle Smith finally managed to stuff her arms into the cream-colored pea coat.  She grabbed the strap of her purse and stomped past Matt Jones, her friend and colleague of two years.  He'd been the one to get her this job – this fabulous job – her dream job of writing for the show.

Well, he didn't get her the job.  The Heads (as Matt and Annabelle called the producers) wouldn't have even considered her had she not some small ounce of talent or gumption; Matt simply brought their attention to her work via her blog.  The situation was most anomalous.  Annabelle, an American, often mused, Who knew that that one small (embarrassing) piece of fan fiction would land me here?  But here she was writing for one of her favourite British television shows alongside Matt Jones.

   And she would not allow him to keep her from her soft couch that resided in her cozy sitting room tonight.  It's been a long day already; Matt's borage of questions, his pulling the best of her out of her head to go on the page had left her exhausted.

   "You're just teasing me again, aren't you?" he said with his Northampton accent.

   "Matt, when have I ever teased you about this before?  Do you really think Vivianne and Richard would last as a married couple?  It would be like people insisting we be a couple."

   "Annie-bellie-wellie, I love it when you call us a 'couple.'"  Matt threw his arm around her shoulder and squeezed Annabelle to his side.

   "First, you goof, we are a writing pair, not a couple."

   "Ah, but we are a pair, my Annie-bellie-wellie."

   "A pair of cuckoo birds.  Don't interrupt.  Second, for the love of cheesecake, don't say my name like that."

   "Like what?  Oh.  Would you rather me sing it?  My dear Annie-bellie-wellie!" Matt warbled.

   Annabelle punched him in the arm laughing.  "Shut up."

   Matt's own laughter died down.  He clasped his hands behind his back as the writing pair walked down the corridor to Car Park A.  Annabelle knew her friend was muddling over an idea because his eyebrows gathered together.  However, she looked straight ahead and forced herself to charge forward.  "Seriously though – Annabelle – something needs to happen to really shake things up for our Richard, and maybe the act of marrying this Vivianne – remind me again, why Vivianne instead of Lucy or Amy or something?"

   "Because names are important, and this girl is meant to show Richard new life in some way; Vivianne means 'lively;' it fits.  You can't just go throwing names around, you know.  They're too sacred. 

In many ways, Vivianne is the hero Richard doesn't even know he needs."

   Annabelle knew she was probably being silly about the name thing, but it was an idea from which she could not shake herself free.

   "So Vivianne is the adventure Richard needs?"  He grinned the Matt Jones grin.  "Just like you for me, my Annie-bellie, my call to adventure."

   In spite of herself, Annabelle giggled.  "You are a marvelous man, Matt Jones, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't work between us.  I could never bring myself to worship cheesecake as you do."

   "Ah, I do love cheesecake."

   "You are what you eat."

   "Easy, Smith," Matt said as he held open the door to the parking garage.

   Annabelle stepped over the threshold and stopped.  She vaguely heard the heavy door shut behind her.

   "What is it?' Matt said.  She then felt him pause beside her.  "Ummm."

   "This isn't the parking garage," said Annabelle

   "A very astute observation.  No it is not."

   "Where are we?"  Annabelle turned.  The door they had come through was still there.

   "Suppose we've somehow managed to find ourselves on the set of a new show?"

   "Right.  So, they've moved Car Park A and built a set here?" 

   "Precisely."  Matt turned and yanked on the door while Annabelle threw her hand into her bag searching for her phone.  "Okay.  Don't panic.  The door is stuck.  And by stuck I mean disappearing before our eyes!"  Annabelle looked up.  The door literally was vanishing into thin air before the writers' eyes.  "Um, Annabelle?"

   "Yes, Matt?"

   He took her hand as she looked in astonishment at the space where the door to Car Park A once was.  "I think we're in trouble."

   "Oh cheesecake."

   "Don't take the name of cheesecake in vain."

   "Sorry," she choked.  Annabelle turned the other way to face what was supposed to be Car Park A but was now a forest of evergreens.  "I can't find my cell.  I must have left it on my desk again.  Do you have yours?"

   Matt patted the pockets of his pants and searched those of his corduroy jacket.  He looked at Annabelle regretfully and shook his head.  She sighed and looked back at the landscape before them.  They appeared to be in a forest of dense evergreens and some scattered oaks.  The trees hovered so closely little light filtered in.   The skirts of the evergreens were high enough to allow a grown person to walk, but the trunks littered the forest floor.  The limbs and roots of the scattered oaks were slung like ropes blocking entrance here and there.  Needles and leaves on the forest floor were scarce so that the dark dirt and oak roots could be seen.

   "So.  Shall we carry on?" said Annabelle. 

   "What?  You mean go through the forest of possible no return?"  Annabelle nodded.  Matt put on his too big smile – the one that meant, We're going to fail miserably, but at least we'll have fun doing it.  "I think that's a brilliant plan.  Let's do it."  He offered Annabelle his arm, and together they crept forward.

The Wingfeather Saga - a Review and Word of Thanks

I've come to know Andrew Peterson through his music. His song "Faith to be Strong" from the album Carried Along was the first time I thought, "I know what that guy was feeling when he wrote that." In fact, Carried Along is my favourite AP album, if only because it was my first -- like when people usually name their first Doctor as "my Doctor" or their favourite Doctor. (I no longer have a favourite Doctor. I'm more like Mai who sees him as the same man, as he is, just different faces. You can read more about Mai here. Actually, don't. It's embarrassing.)

AP is a kindred spirit and one of the few musical artists who have helped define my journey through song; he joins the list with Jars of Clay (my first favourite band whose music I will forever love even when I don't), Audio Adrenaline, JJ Heller and Caedman's Call. There is a quote attributed to Donna Roberts: A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, [sic] and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words. That is what AP, through his music, has become to me.

And now there's a way for me to know the man better. ("Come in and know me better man!" -- Ghost of Christmas Present, Muppet Christmas Carol.) I had teachers in school (so long ago it seems now, though 10+ years isn't that long ago) who said but for my writing they wouldn't have known me because I'm so quiet. I got to know AP through his music and posts at The Rabbit Room, so reading this series was like reading the work of a friend, which I found encouraging, inspiring and an adventure, especially as I'm in the midst of writing my own book.

The Wingfeather Saga consists of four books: The Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, North! Or be Eaten, The Monster in the Hollows, and The Wardenand the Wolf King. This children's fantasy series tells the story of the three seemingly ordinary Igiby children living in Aerwiar under the oppression of Gnag the Nameless. They end up on a quest to revive the lost Shining Isle of Anniera by searching for the Jewels of Anniera. (Hey, I just gave a decent summary in two sentences. Pat on the back for me -- brevity is not strong suit.)

Andrew Peterson is a fantastic storyteller. Throughout the whole series he wrote with escalating tension and foreshadowing that lead to an inevitable yet unexpected ending. The journey of the Igiby children is not soft; it is hard and full of harsh reality. AP made a brave choice for the story resolution, however, the ending is hopeful. The characters do not receive cotton candy happy endings full of sunshine and daisies, but those characters whom you find yourself cheering for do receive love in its richest and deepest forms.

There are a few things that I found distracting as a reader: 1) the use of footnotes when a notes section at the end of each book might have been a better choice as none of the notes were necessary to understand the story; 2) the overabundance of exclamation marks in some places; and 3) Oskar N. Reteep's habit of speaking mostly in quotes from books he's read -- his dialogue was an opera of quotes (without the actual singing). None of these, however, were enough to pull me away from the actual story.

In conclusion to my review of the Wingfeather Saga, if you enjoy children's fantasy or enjoy family reading time books, you'll really enjoy this series. If you find odd place names and quirky character and creature names tiresome, I imagine you're not a fan of fantasy, so you might want to skip the series, however, if you do fall into that latter category, I encourage you to try at least the first book because the story itself really is fantastic and gets better as you go along.

And if Andrew Peterson should ever find himself reading this: I'm thankful for your existence and glad you found your way all those years ago. Thank you for being brave and sharing a few stories.

Busy? Really?

        I read today's devotion, and again I am faced with that excuse, that explanation -- busy.  That same old, same old: "I have a busy life"; "I was too busy to notice..."; "I know we're all busy, but..."; "Thank you for doing that; I know you're really busy."  What is everybody so "busy" with???  I don't understand.  I don't get it.  
     However, as I read the devotion, it clicked.  The author of the devotion was encouraging readers to reach out to our fellow human beings because we never know who might need a touch of Jesus' love.  The author said, "[Often] I'm too busy to love people."  And then I got it.
       People aren't too busy.  They're not really all that busy.  Sometimes, yes, we have a lot going on (I know, it occasionally happens to me too), but it's not "busy" that keeps us from loving.  Really, in these situations, "busy" is another word for fear.  This clicked because I have mild social anxiety, and I as I read the devotion I thought about my neighbors across the street, particularly the woman, and how she looks nice and judging by how often her car is in the drive and the times it is, I'm guessing she's a nurse and how it might be nice to get to know her a little.  But what's keeping me from going over and introducing myself isn't "busyness" but rather fear.  That's when the busy excuse clicked.
       I'm all for calling a spade a spade.  Busy is an excuse that people far too often use instead of admitting fear; women in our society are especially prone to use this excuse as we're constantly fed empty misguided mush about being strong, to the point that the real meaning of being strong has been lost, and since we are to identify ourselves as strong, if that identifier has lost its meaning, then so have we.  So rather than bucking up and admitting fear, we throw out, "I'm just so busy."
       Those who know me, know about my blazing honesty -- for better or worse.  I don't tend to use the "I'm busy" line; if I do something for someone, and she responds with the "Thank you for doing that; I know you're really busy"  I respond, "No, I'm not."  What keeps me from loving, which is the only thing God asks of us, is fear.  Fear.  Fear.  Fear.  Cold-hearted, bald-faced, old-fashioned fear.  But there is hope for that:

"You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit.  For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline." (Romans 8:9a and 2 Timothy 1:7)

"Fear not for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine." (Isaiah 43:1)

       All I want is for people to stop throwing out the excuse of being busy and admit that they're afraid, for only when we admit our problems (vulnerability) do we turn to God to fix us (humbleness).  And when we turn to God, we can see that we already have the fearlessness built into us.  He has already instilled in us a spirit of power (ladies), a spirit of love, and a spirit of self-discipline; we need to recognize these qualities and utilize them.  And again, women especially, we need to recognize the lie that we are not the wimpy, air-headed, vapid, useless (redundancies abound) "strong" that society wants us to label ourselves and replace it with the truth that we are God's.  That is who we truly are.

Bee in My Bonnet: a PSA

      I have a bad temper.
      At home I have two drawers in the dresser of the spare room that my grandmother, whom I live with, said I am free to use.  Recently we've had visitors who used the spare room.  This morning, I opened the top drawer looking for a sweater and the drawer was empty.  After a couple minutes search, I finally found my things in the bottom of the spare room closet crammed underneath some pillows.  I was furious.  
     Why?  Because, one, someone touched my stuff.  This is a neurotic flaw of mine, a security issue.  I know I have this flaw and am able to push aside any "trespass."  Number one just sits packed down in my cup of stress like wet sand.  What really set me off looking at that empty drawer, having to search for my belongings, and then finding them stuck in a closet is number two:  you go for a visit to where someone resides, move that resident's things, and don't have the courtesy to return what you moved at your place of visitation back where you found it? 
     I was irate for fifteen minutes or so, but no one calms me down like the Holy Spirit for if most anyone else tries, it is like adding fuel on the fire.  After reveling in anger, I was calm enough to hear, "Be slow to anger," something which, believe it or not, I've been trying to work on.  Then I focused on God and who he is by listening to a song ("My Savior's Love Endures" by J.J. Heller).  And the anger passed
     This small experience brought to mind a, what I'm calling, philosophy that I've heard a few times lately:  What you think, your thoughts, affect how you feel -- change your thoughts, change your feelings.  The first time I heard this idea, I disagreed with it (which translated means I thought it crap, because I can be narrow-minded).  The first time I heard this philosophy explained, I was offended; well, not so much offended as hurt and a small bit shamed.  I've said before, guilt says, "You've done something wrong," while shame says, "There is something wrong with you."  The further into the explanation of the philosophy -- how we shouldn't be Eeyores because that "Thanks for noticing me" kind of thinking is what makes us depressed -- the more I felt the orator was speaking insensitively, and the originator of the philosophy or rather the philosophy itself is insensitive.
     My Thursday night Bible study group said the philosophy isn't saying, "Think positive thoughts, and life will be hunky-dory," and I agree (somewhat) with them that the intention behind the philosophy is not positive thinking leads to positive feelings -- or is it?
     The first time I heard the philosophy, I disagreed with it because according to this idea that our thinking has direct affect on our feelings, means I essentially don't have a chance, nor does anyone living with a chemical balance that causes depression, however mild.  Living with depression, you could be feeling fine when BAM you feel emotional pain or anger or sadness or anguish -- and for absolutely no good reason.  As blogger Allie Brosh wrote about feeling sad for no reason: "Essentially, I was being robbed of my right to feel self-pity, which is the only redeeming part of sadness" (Hyperbole and a Half).  Okay, so according to this philosophy that our thoughts control our feelings, I need to find the lie and replace it with the truth; don't be an Eeyore; take captive my thoughts (2 Corinthians 10:5).  But what happens when there is no lie?
     I'll tell you a lie:  because I feel sad or horrible sometimes, I'm clearly not controlling my thoughts.  What a loser.
     To be fair, that was not the intention of the speaker.  If only the speaker had padded the words with some disclaimer like "I'm not talking about those who have a genuine problem..." whatever.  I've heard this done before, and I appreciate it.  But as the speaker did not, the words fell on a porcupine's back.
     The next time I heard this philosophy, it was in the context of emotions.  I'm sure the intention this time (as last) was: find the lie > replace it with the truth > have a little peace in your life.  But it wasn't explained that way.
     This morning's "incident" might be an example of that philosophy in a normal situation.  I thought some people had acted discourteous to me, which led to me feeling livid.  I turned my thoughts to God, and I didn't feel (so) angry anymore.
     I suppose then this whole thing can be called a PSA: when you're spouting a philosophy related to feelings, remember those whose feelings cannot be controlled outside of normalcy.  (I cringe slightly writing this because when I read similar "rants" I say "Lighten up people."  So, even if you're thinking or saying that, I'm glad you've read this post through and can say it with authority and not dismissively as one who read only one or two lines of the post.)  
     
     This entire post could be chalked up to courteous behavior.  My list of courteous behaviors is quite long (if you haven't guessed) and even I can't live up to my standards.  Go ahead, you can call it self-righteousness if you want, but any discourteous behavior I call someone out on, I call myself out on too.  And when I can't see that I'm being a jerk, for the love of all that is good and holy, please be me for me -- in a courteous fashion.

Money - The Giver of All Good Things?

Today at church, the sermon was about money.  And I’ve no idea why I was hearing it, but here it goes.

I grew up with money being an issue.  And I’ve had times in the past where I served this god that I thought was the provider of all good things.  I worried and worried over whether there was enough of this god for me.

Then I heard the still, small voice through the chaotic darkness in which I’d found myself:  Choose today whom you will serve (Joshua 24:15).

Jesus said, “You cannot serve both God and Money” (Matthew 6:24).

Hindsight is a bit of a cruel mistress allowing us to both suffer in our past stupidity asking “Why” and learn from that stupidity – to see things more clearly outside of the situation we were in.

As I served the god named Money that I thought was the giver of all good things, Lord God, Yahweh, was saying, “I taught you how to pray: ‘Give us this day our daily bread’” (Luke 11:3).

God will not provide all of us with “one hundred billlliondollars!,” but he will provide all of us what we need for this day.  What will he do about tomorrow?  Tomorrow, he will provide all of us what we need for that day.  God doesn’t always change our situation, but if we try and commune with him (“Hey, God, it’s me again…”), he will help us change our perspective.  “I don’t know where it’s going to come from, Father, but I trust you to provide it.”

This god called Money will not solve all our problems.  Point of fact, God in Heaven isn’t going to solve all our problems, but he is there with us always.  Money is not so gracious.

Money itself isn’t really the problem either.  It is our reaction to it.  First, there's serving it, as I did, treating it as the giver of all good things.  And it was and is a shaming god.  Shame says “There is something wrong with you.”  Shame is wrong.  God the Creator is not a shaming god.  He is a God of conviction who does prod with guilt; guilt says, “You’re doing something wrong.”  Guilt attacks our actions; shame attacks our identity, our being.

Serving money is one reaction to it.  Loving it is another – this reaction I flirt with, but recognize it more quickly and am able to fight it off.  1 Timothy 6:10 says, “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.  Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.”  As Ecclesiastes 5:10 states, loving money means you never have enough.  Just a little bit more.  The “one hundred billion dollars!” you received in ransom for the entire planet wouldn’t be enough.  Just a little bit more.  The paycheck you receive, you’re not satisfied with it – why can’t I make just a little bit more?  (This is the tease that gets whispered in my ear, and I have to put up my dukes.)  Just a little bit more.

What is between me and my God, as I’ve written before, is a relationship.  Religion is more a way to express one’s love.

When you fall in love with a person, you can’t get enough of that person – you want to spend every last second with that person, can’t wait to hear what that person is going to say next.  You can’t get enough.  Just a little bit more.

Just as one can be in love with a person, one can be in love with a god.  Sometimes it’s called being filled with “spiritual fervor.”

“Lord Jesus, I can’t get enough of you; I want to read more, I want to see more, I want more of you.  Just a little bit more.”  (It’s not always like this in a relationship.  Being “in love” is a feeling, and feelings cannot be controlled, only acted upon.  Love itself is an act and intentional.  But I digress.)

Money, money money “by the pound!”  -- Heck yeah.  Just worked Pete’s Dragon into this.  Excellent.  

Sorry.

“Money, Money, Money.  I love the way you speak getting me all the things (I think) I want.  All the things my heart desires.  I can’t get enough of you.  I love you.  Just a little bit more.”

In my previous digression (right before the Pete’s Dragon interruption), I said being in love is a feeling which can’t be controlled, only acted upon.  If you’re mad or hurt by someone, you can’t help feeling that way; you control how you act upon that feeling – punching the perpetrator in the face or walking away for example.

God may not change our situation, but he will help us change our perspective.  He rarely gives me more money, but he always gives me what I need for this day.

Money doesn’t make a very good god.  Why?  Because it is a thing, a possession, and, as I’ve recently come to terms with in my life (again), possessions are something that are owned.  We need to own our possessions, not allow our possessions to own us.  We are the owners of our money.  Pastor Phil’s really good line in today’s sermon: “Money serves us as we serve God.”

I am in possession of the money God has given me.  God calls me to be an indian giver, not for his sake, but for my own.  Giving back some of that money to God is an act of faith – an exercise of faith on my part, meant to strengthen my faith and my character.  When I give back to God – the church term is “tithe” – I’m saying, “God, I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.  I trust that you are generous and will continue to provide me with what I need for today.”  (This – tithing – is an example of religion being an expression of love.)  So, since I’ve been earning a paycheck, I’ve been giving a little back to God – I follow the 10% guideline (not rule) in the Old Testament – and I’ve never been destitute.  In fact, I’ve often been blessed to be able to give to others or to buy extras for myself, like whatever electronic my flesh desires at the moment.

And God, true to his word (Matthew 28:20b), has always been with me, even into the chaotic darkness I’d led myself into by choosing to allow money to control me.  Just the thought of that darkness is frightening, so I have to believe he is with me.  Always.  And another song from Pete’s Dragon because it’s not easy to find Someone like that.

Here is a link to Pastor Phil's sermon on March 30, 2014 "A Godly Perspective on Money": http://vimeo.com/90583536

(Other sermons may be found at http://pathways.cc/video-sermons-online)

Give yourself permission

So, I was giving some advice to a friend who said she has a story idea that she's been thinking about but doesn't feel she's a good enough writer to put it to paper.  The best advice I've read in the past year is give yourself permission to write badly.  I've been following this advice, I told my friend, for the last several months, and it has really helped.  

Then I told my friend the following:  First drafts are NEVER masterpieces.  They're a start, that's all.  First drafts are opening the door, stepping outside and seeing where your feet take you.

And that sounded so brilliant, I thought I would share it with everyone.  (Hahahahaha, and yes, I realize I sound like an arrogant sot.)

One thing leads to another

     I  thought my passport was lost to the abyss that is my storage unit in Roanoke.  I couldn't find it.  This saddened me because it's slightly less of a hassle to renew a passport than applying for a new one.  It saddened me mostly because it's my passport - I made it to the UK.  Sentimental reasons, you know.
     This week I read a Proverbs 31 devotion (http://proverbs31.org/devotions/devo/why-shopping-will-never-satisfy/) that I related to.  The author writes about how her "treasures" had become burdens and how she had somehow let her stuff define her.
     For several weeks now I've been thinking of dumping some things, but the idea remained a thought.  Then I read this devotion and felt I should just do it.  As God would have it, some people I knew in college are adopting (read their story here: http://weleftourheartsindrc.blogspot.com/) and to help raise funds are holding a garage sale; they're asking for donated items.
     So Friday night before I went to bed, I asked God for the motivation and help to purge some things -- a very hard thing for me to do of my own volition. 
     I did pretty well.  I boxed up (about two boxes) some movies I don't really want, including some boxed TV sets I'll probably never watch again (The OC and Felicity).  I'm getting rid of some books I've read that I feel no need to keep.  I didn't bother going through the clothes in my closet this time or some of the older boxes in the garage -- gave myself a break there.
     I found a few things I'd been looking for too, things I knew were somewhere in the bottom of the those boxes in the garage that I couldn't bring myself to dig through -- my movie ticket "scrapbook" and my study abroad photo album.  Finally found my copy of Lady in Waiting -- one of the gals in my Bible study has been waiting for someone to bring her a copy.  And I pulled out Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows book to read.  Also found the Part One movie version of this, which I thought was lost.  Pulled out my old Britain and Ireland travel guide to look through as I'm planning a trip to London next late spring/early summer (anybody care to join me, seriously speaking?).
     I felt pretty good about the amount of stuff in the give-away pile.  Normally, as I told my Bible study gals, I attempt to purge and am very discouraged by the pitiful pile of "get rid" items.  But I did well this time by God's grace.  And it didn't take all day like usual either.  Well, it kind of did, but only because I stopped for breaks -- you know to eat lunch and all.  I watched This is 40, which really made me laugh despite the abundant overuse of the F-word.  It also made me appreciate my dad more.  Haha.
     So, overall, a good purge day.  I'm exhausted though.  Overslept this morning for 9 AM church service; thought, I'll go to 10:45 service.  Finally dragged myself out of bed into the shower.  When I got out the clock said 10:47; so I guess going to church today is a bust.  I'll do church at home today (i.e. find an online sermon).  I decided I'd go to Starbucks for an hour of writing, which has become part of my Sunday routine.
     As I was getting ready to go out, I picked up my old Britain and Ireland travel guide to take a look at the London neighborhood I want to explore next year, and there among the pages -- my passport.