Showing posts with label Creativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creativity. Show all posts

Monday, May 22, 2017

The Story We Live By


It's funny how reading can convict you to write.

I'm taking The Canadian Short Story in summer school right now--a fun elective for the summer.

And it is totally convicting me to write.

We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives. 
--Nigerian storyteller Ben Okri

That quote resonated with me deep.

I hoped to be around this blog more this year. But many times I've felt word-less. Why write? I thought, Is there really any thing left to be said in this world?

Yes. That's what I hear zing through my heart as my professor reads it out: We live stories. Stories change lives. 

The writer deep inside me always knows this, of course. But sometimes I needs a reminder.

And when the world feels like it's imploding on itself, it can be hard to comprehend the power of a simple story.

But what about that story of a God who loved us so much that He refused to leave us in this imploding world all on our own?

So He made a plan and suddenly--God with us, showing us the way to live our stories. To live compassion and humility and servanthood and peace.

Then He spread his arms wide at calvary and took the brunt of the worst this imploding world had to offer... and He defeated it.

What. About. That. Story?

Yeah--that's the story that gives our life meaning.

And until every heart knows the immense, overwhelming beauty of it, we must tell it again and again and again. No matter how many times it takes--because the Love in this story is relentless.

So yes, yes, yes. Artists and singers and filmmakers and thespians and yes - writers, too. We must tell stories, and live stories, and change lives.

Because until every life lives transformed by the Greatest Story of a Man on a cross, defeating death and inviting all to the resurrection...

There are still more stories to be told of lives transformed by the Good News that He is making all things new.



Does this mean I'll blog more? Perhaps. I do know that words are slowly coming back, and that feels good.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Worlds Collide

As we barrel in towards Christmas, a re-post... One of my favourites from last year's Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words.

You notice her. She’s got one of those faces that makes you look twice. She’s maybe only a few years older than you. You wonder what it’d be like, to stand out in vibrant colour like that, instead of always being the faded black and white in the background. She catches your eye and for a moment you think she’s noticed you. Then she opens the door and slips into the warm world of red, snowflake-covered cups of low-fat, double pump, extra whip. You shut your eyes and lean your head against the wall, bitterly trying to tune out a Christmas carol coming from who-knows-where. His law is love, and His gospel is peace. Yeah, right.

A few minutes later, you feel the fleeting heat on your cheek for a moment as the door opens again but you don’t bother to open your eyes or reach for your cardboard sign, because you know the answer will be no, as usual. You understand but you don’t all at once. They have places to go and family to see and you just don’t belong in that world of vibrant colour. You’ll always be faded background noise, the part of the 7 billion that enables the other part to drink from their red, snowflake-covered cups.

"Excuse me?" Your eyes flutter open as you realize the voice is close enough to possibly be talking to you. It’s her, and she’s holding out a red, snowflake-covered cup, and a pretty paper bag. “I bought you some hot chocolate. And a muffin.” You stare at her. “I mean, you don’t have to - Actually I was just - I mean, it’s for you.” She fumbles slightly and holds it out and you can’t believe this face that lives in colour and makes you look twice is even capable of stumbling over her words. You reach out and grab today’s grace. Today’s healing. And you decide that it’s enough for you to believe that His gospel is peace again, at least for today.

-

You notice her. She’s got one of those faces that makes you look twice. She’s maybe only a few years younger than you. You wonder what it’d be like, to fade into a quiet black and white background, instead of always living in fast-paced, vibrant colour. She catches your eye and for a moment you think she’s noticed you. You panic, and quickly open the door and slip into the warm world of red, snowflake-covered cups of low-fat, double pump, extra whip. You shut your eyes and think about what that girl must think of all these people running past her for five dollar coffees and you hear a carol in the background and you wonder if she even believes it. His law is love and His gospel is peace. Yeah, right.

You step up to the counter and order a peppermint hot chocolate. Then you surprise yourself and order a second, along with an apple-cinnamon muffin. You push open the door, and you’re not sure why your heart’s beating out of your chest. You’ve nailed every big presentation you’ve ever made and somehow you’re nervous about offering this girl some breakfast. She’s still there, eyes closed, head leaned back and you understand and you don’t all at once. You just don’t know that black and white world. You’ve always lived in this intoxicating vibrant colour and you just hate that these two worlds even exist and you know you have nothing and everything to do with their existence.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes flutter open and your heart beats faster. You hold out the red, snowflake-covered cup, and the paper bag. “I bought you some hot chocolate. And a muffin.” She stares at you. “I mean, you don’t have to - Actually I was just - I mean, it’s for you.” You fumble slightly and hold it out and you wonder if this face that lives in black and white and makes you look twice ever feels nervous holding out her cardboard sign. She reaches out and grabs the meager offering and this is today's grace. Today’s healing. And you decide that it’s enough for you to believe that His gospel is peace again, at least for today.


Merry Two-Days til Christmas... Let's live like His law is love, in this season and always.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Day Seven: Unexpected

they didn’t expect her.

or him,

or that little town,

or that barn,

or those animals,

or that manger.

they didn’t really expect a baby,

and they certainly didn’t expect to miss it.

but in all their preparations, all their fanfare, they missed it all,

and the lowly, unprepared shepherds receive the birth announcement,

and the outcasted crazies are the only ones that follow the star.

yeah, it was unexpected and strange and upside down -

the perfect beginning to this unexpected, strange, upside down life

that sparks this unexpected, strange, upside down revolution.


may we never let our fanfare cause us to miss Him and the unexpected, strange, upside down life He calls us to. Merry, Merry Christmas to you & yours!





Part of a Christmas series here on the blog:
Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words. 'Twas a whirlwind but we made it here. Hope these words have blessed you even a little in these past few days. In case you missed it:


Day One: Back to the Manger
Day Two: Fresh & New
Day Three: Worlds Collide
Day Four: Christmas Light
Day Five: The Courage That Saves the World

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Day Six: That Bright Star

She burst outside and stared up into the night sky, sick and tired of her father’s endless preachings.

It’d been a long 400 years.

Rachel was already fed up with all this “waiting for God” - and she’d only been alive for the last 15.

Like really - you’d think after the first century of God-silence, these people would just give up.

Her father was a priest, and of course he was a sold-out believer that God was still coming, that He would speak.

That somehow, after 400 long, long years of silence, God would randomly decide to show up.

Of course, news of Zachariah’s big moment with God had gotten around, and that was what her father was raving about now - how it was coming, for real. Finally, God was back.

In Rachel’s opinion, any desperate old guy could make a bunch of stuff up.

Now, if God really cared, if He was that great, He’d prove it without making His people wait for forever.

Are you real?

She asked the air, the God who wasn’t listening - not listening whether you prayed “the right way” in the temple, or just flat-out spoke it or thought it into the wide open world that He’d apparently created.

She shifted her gaze out towards Bethlehem, and saw a bright star shining in the sky.

And she suddenly something shifted and she felt it, overwhelming and simply, profoundly real -

God, right here. On earth.

She stilled to try and hear if He would speak, but He didn’t.

And that was okay.

For now, a presence was more than enough.

And she wondered if that bright star was the start of something new.

Something where God didn’t live in temples for only Zachariah and her father to meet -

But in the hearts of young, humble girls too, just like her.



If you're somewhere in those 400 years, take heart, and may you find the strength this Christmas to hold out for that bright star. Merry Christmas Eve.




Part of a Christmas series here on the blog: Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words.



ps power back here at home now - so very thankful. still thinking of those who may be left waiting until after Christmas.

Monday, December 23, 2013

Day Five: The Courage That Saves the World

M ost would've said no.

A  girl such as this, however,

R ight then and there says for it to be done just as His will desires. 

Y eah, that's the courage, that's the faith that saves the world. 



A late day five in a Christmas series on the blog: Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words. 


a short and late one today in the wake of the aftermath of a huge ice storm up here in the great white north - coming up on hour #42 without electricity. thankful for family with power who have taken us in. especially appreciating all we have and all we take for granted during these past couple days without heat/light/internet/the works. fitting for the christmas season. appreciate grace in the wait for tomorrow's post, too - internet and power is spotty and the time to sit and quietly write is also rare. praying for things to return to normal soon - and forever thinking of those who live without each and everyday. talk soon, and stay warm to all you readers in a similar situation to me tonight.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Day Four: Christmas Light

so, so many years before it all culminated,

separated by many years,

various men sat penning the crazy story.

in glowing candlelight, they almost had to listen twice to make sure they were hearing it all right -

a virgin and her betrothed.

she’s pregnant.

the two souls are walking towards bethlehem, his hometown.

yet they courageously and fervently walk into the everything unknown and risky, too.

because listen close to this part -

the baby within her is God.
hundreds and hundreds of years later, it all happens just as those prophets penned it.

under a bright star shining into the darkest, lowliest place on earth,

God Himself is a baby, born to a virgin.

prophesied in candlelight, fulfilled in starlight.

and so, so many years after, this story of hope is read by lamplight, screen light, sunlight...

shining light into a million billion lowly dark places.



Part of a Christmas series here on the blog: Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Day Three: Worlds Collide

You notice her. She’s got one of those faces that makes you look twice. She’s maybe only a few years older than you. You wonder what it’d be like, to stand out in vibrant colour like that, instead of always being the faded black and white in the background. She catches your eye and for a moment you think she’s noticed you. Then she opens the door and slips into the warm world of red, snowflake-covered cups of low-fat, double pump, extra whip. You shut your eyes and lean your head against the wall, bitterly trying to tune out a Christmas carol coming from who-knows-where. His law is love, and His gospel is peace. Yeah, right.

A few minutes later, you feel the fleeting heat on your cheek for a moment as the door opens again but you don’t bother to open your eyes or reach for your cardboard sign, because you know the answer will be no, as usual. You understand but you don’t all at once. They have places to go and family to see and you just don’t belong in that world of vibrant colour. You’ll always be faded background noise, the part of the 7 billion that enables the other part to drink from their red, snowflake-covered cups. 

"Excuse me?" Your eyes flutter open as you realize the voice is close enough to possibly be talking to you. It’s her, and she’s holding out a red, snowflake-covered cup, and a pretty paper bag. “I bought you some hot chocolate. And a muffin.” You stare at her. “I mean, you don’t have to - Actually I was just - I mean, it’s for you.” She fumbles slightly and holds it out and you can’t believe this face that lives in colour and makes you look twice is even capable of stumbling over her words. You reach out and grab today’s grace. Today’s healing. And you decide that it’s enough for you to believe that His gospel is peace again, at least for today.


-


You notice her. She’s got one of those faces that makes you look twice. She’s maybe only a few years younger than you. You wonder what it’d be like, to fade into a quiet black and white background, instead of always living in fast-paced, vibrant colour. She catches your eye and for a moment you think she’s noticed you. You panic, and quickly open the door and slip into the warm world of red, snowflake-covered cups of low-fat, double pump, extra whip. You shut your eyes and think about what that girl must think of all these people running past her for five dollar coffees and you hear a carol in the background and you wonder if she even believes it. His law is love and His gospel is peace. Yeah, right.

You step up to the counter and order a peppermint hot chocolate. Then you surprise yourself and order a second, along with an apple-cinnamon muffin. You push open the door, and you’re not sure why your heart’s beating out of your chest. You’ve nailed every big presentation you’ve ever made and somehow you’re nervous about offering this girl some breakfast. She’s still there, eyes closed, head leaned back and you understand and you don’t all at once. You just don’t know that black and white world. You’ve always lived in this intoxicating vibrant colour and you just hate that these two worlds even exist and you know you have nothing and everything to do with their existence. 

“Excuse me?” Her eyes flutter open and your heart beats faster. You hold out the red, snowflake-covered cup, and the paper bag. “I bought you some hot chocolate. And a muffin.” She stares at you. “I mean, you don’t have to - Actually I was just - I mean, it’s for you.” You fumble slightly and hold it out and you wonder if this face that lives in black and white and makes you look twice ever feels nervous holding out her cardboard sign. She reaches out and grabs the meager offering and this is today's grace. Today’s healing. And you decide that it’s enough for you to believe that His gospel is peace again, at least for today.






Part of a Christmas series here on the blog: Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words. 

Day One: Back to the Manger

Friday, December 20, 2013

Day Two: Fresh & New

“It’s been a hard year.”

It’s a simple but terribly weighty phrase that she speaks too casually.

Her eyes meet mine and I see more than a hard year in there.

I can tell Christmas won’t be pretty.

It’ll just be a reminder of all the holes in her life - in her family, in her friends, in her smile and in her hope.

I pull her close and whisper a desperate prayer on her behalf.

Sometimes wrapping arms around a girl and lifting your arms in surrender is all you can do.

I’m holding broken and I’m holding hurt and I’m wondering why God would make it so hard for her to believe He’s real.

And I realize He doesn’t.

We do.

We’ve built a world that screens God from her and He hurts for her more than I hurt for her and more importantly, He hurts for her more than she hurts for herself.

Patience is just so darn hard sometimes.

When worship’s over we head for the exit together.

And she whispers it almost scared to believe it - “There was just this presence - did you feel it too?

It was just... God.”

I smile quietly because it’s enough for today.

She knows He’s there, and that’s enough to get through for the time being.

We step out the doors and snow is falling all around, covering black slush and stepped-on snow angels -

and blanketing the world fresh and new.





Part of a Christmas series here on the blog: Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Back to the Manger

It's exactly 7 days 'til Christmas - and I'm about to do something crazy.

Seven straight days of Christmas Creative Writing - a 7-day journey to the manger through creative words. 

Seven pieces to lead us straight to Christmas. Maybe you'll join me and read along here. :)

Merry Christmas!

-

Day One: Back to the Manger

In a shepherds’ field near Bethlehem; 10 years after the birth of Christ.

“Do you remember it, Pascal?”

This shepherd’s eyes dance as he nudges his friend, careful to keep at least one sparkling eye on his flock.

“The sky just ripped open. The angels. The symphony of it all. I was terrified. And you,” A spurt of laughter consumes the jovial shepherd, “You looked as if you’d seen a ghost!” His laughter continues.

“Glory to God in the heavens! And peace on earth!

Do you remember?”

“No.”

Pascal’s face is stone. He shifts his staff from one hand to the other and turns bored eyes to his merry companion. “Keep your eyes on the sheep, Martin. We can’t afford to lose another one.”

“Ohhhh.” Martin’s jovial mood doesn’t falter as he waves last week’s incident off. “I found the little lamb, didn’t I?” He tosses a grin at Pascal, but it’s not returned.

Silence.

“Ok, Pascal, what is it? What’s the matter with you, you don’t remember?”

Eventually, Pascal heaves a heavy sigh. “Ten years, Martin. Ten years. So what if I don’t remember?”

His look drills deep into his friend’s eyes. “Sometimes I think it was all a dream. Crazy shepherds we were, who made something up to brighten the long, dreary days.

‘A Saviour! A Messiah!’ - really, Martin? Really? It’s been ten years; have we heard of any saving feats of this so-called King?”

Martin looks back in stunned silence.

“I didn’t think so.”

After a slight pause, Martin grasps the shoulder of his friend. “Pascal! I know just what you need.”

The energetic one of the two jumps to his feet and pulls the other with him.

“Martin -”

“Oh - calm down. The sheep will be fine for a few hours. I’ll tell Jeffery to keep an eye out when we walk by.”

“Jeffery’s over half a field away!” Pascal protests. 

But there’s no stopping Martin now. The solemn shepherd reluctantly follows his enthusiastic counterpart.

Over a few hills and towards town, and Pascal knows where his friend is taking him.

And suddenly they’re right there - in front of the stable.

Life has resumed as normal - much has changed, and ten years’ time has taken it’s toll.

Pascal realizes that business has gone on as planned here in this stable, unrelenting and unaware of the holy event that took place between these walls.

“Oh.” Pascal’s face softens to quiet reverence.

The manger is still the same one. Same place.

Somehow, it’s stood the test of time, perhaps the only nod to acknowledgment of the holy birth.

O Holy Night.

And he can see it all - the faithful girl and her courageous husabnd. The animals, the hay, the bright star.

And the baby.

The Saviour.

And he knows they didn’t just make it up.

In fact, perhaps he can even believe it again -

Believe Him again.

He whispers it to Martin, himself and that baby -

“I remember.”


In this week coming up on Christmas, may you find your way back to the manger - no matter how long it’s been - to remember how Love came down for you.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Me, The Very Worst [Compassion] Blogger



As you've probably heard from other bloggers who are way more on top of things than I am, September is Compassion Blog Moth.

I'm part of a network of bloggers who support Compassion International. This is our second year doing blog month - with the goal of getting 3160 children sponsored.

Basically, this is the biggest month of the year the Compassion Bloggers Network.

And here my blog quietly sits. Ha.

However - better late then never? Because blog month is so happening here.

And we start today with the [fictional] story behind a photo. Come with me to Kenya. :)

-

The Lost Bible

source: @compassion

“I can’t find it,” you remember crying to your mom.

“Check again.” She had said. With only a two hour layover in the middle of that journey from Kenya to home, she’d had little time to deal with lost items.

Even if it was your favourite Bible.

You remember digging through your backpack once more, but you knew it was really gone. You’d sighed halfway through and given up. It was no use. 

You’d loved that Bible. Underlined your favourite verses, scribbled in the margins. Even though your friends at youth group had always said it looked like an old person’s Bible, with the fake leather cover and fading gold around the pages’ edges, you’d loved it because your Grandma had given it to you.

That Bible had held many memories from your fifteen years, from summer camp to youth group retreats, to that time your mom got mad at you when you were 5, for taking red pen to the bottom of the Bible and scrawling “God is Good” in your kindergarten printing during Sunday School. You hadn’t seen why she was so upset. You still don’t, in fact. After all, what you’d written was the truth. Maybe she was just mad that you hadn’t been paying attention. 

Funny how Bibles so often hold sentimental value. 

And now you had one more memory attached to that Bible - your day at one of the Compassion International Child Development Centres in Kenya, and how right there, in the middle of the day’s musical worship time, you’d sat down and opened to Matthew 5:3 and underlined it.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Because you’d finally figured out what it meant.

After your day amongst the poor, visiting your family’s 5-year-old sponsored child, you’d finally figured out that verse that had confused you all your life. The joy and hope you’d seen that day told you this: poor in spirit, with nothing of this world taking your soul’s attention, was the only state in which you could fully grasp the richness of Christ.

These people with nothing - they’d figured out how to let Jesus be their everything.


“Mom. It’s gone.” you remember looking up at her with a deep frown on your face. “I left it at the church.”

“Well honey, I’m sure someone else will love it as much as you.”

You were at that same airport again this week, off to visit that same 5-year-old, now 15.

And now? Now, ten years later, you’re sitting in that same Child Development Centre. You’re sitting in the same chapel, which now doubles as a classroom because of the growing number of kids in the program.

And you can’t believe what you’re holding.

Your Bible.

It’s more well-loved than you remember. The pages are curling now, and the cover is creased and folded at the edges.

“God is Good” is still scrawled across the bottom, but you can tell it’s been rewritten a few times. You turn to Matthew 5, the last verse you’d read in that Bible, and smile. Still underlined, and now boxed around and highlighted.

You flip through more pages, trying to remember what you’d underlined and written and what was new.

“Excuse me?” You look up and meet the chocolate brown eyes of a seven-year-old girl. “That’s my Bible. I’d let you borrow it, but I’m going home and my family and I read it every night.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart smiles wide. “Of course. Here.”

You pause a moment. “Actually, do you mind if I quickly take a photo of it before I leave?” You want this memory forever.

“Of course.” She says. You set down the Bible and pull out your camera and snap the shot, then send the little girl on her way.

And when you find out later that she’s unsponsored?

You sponsor her and write her a letter about the Bible you lost when you were fifteen.

-

Through sponsorship with Compassion International, children living in poverty have access to education, healthcare, nutritious meals and constant care from the staff at their Child Development Centre. But most importantly, and what I love most about Compassion International, they have the opportunity to learn of the hope and freedom found in Jesus. And often times (like in the case of many of our sponsored children), their families begin to learn of this hope and freedom as well.

Would you like to sponsor a child? Yes? Great. HERE for Canadian readers and HERE for Americans.

Oh - and stayed tuned for more Compassion blog month this week. 'Cause like I said... Compassion blog month is ON around here! If you'd like to join us (I'm a living example of better-late-than-never) check out the Compassion Bloggers website to sign up.

Sponsor a Child in Jesus Name with Compassion

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Refugee Girl


I've wanted to say something about Syria, but I'm just not sure what one says to such horror.

But I thought this piece I wrote up this week would be a bit more appropriate than angry, political tweets. 'Cause those rarely turn out well.

Just thinking of the one million Syrian children in refugee camps today, and how no amount of politics will ever give them back their childhood.

refugee girl 
mama says we’re almost there.
but where is there?
she says that everyday.
i think she thinks i believe her.
we left our home a million days ago.
from the amount we’ve walked i feel as though we should’ve circled the earth by now -
and simply arrived back home.

but i know we haven’t been all around the world.
because we haven’t seen the eiffel tower yet.
or the great wall of china,
nor the american white house.
papa used to tell me about those things.
he used to say that one day he’d take me there,
and i’d always fall asleep dreaming about a trip to france with my papa.
that was before he went to fight.

dear soldiers, why do you fight?
why do you kill each other,
hurt each other,
hate each other?
maybe if you stopped, i could go home.

i’ll tell you a secret -
i don’t really want to go to that camp my mama talks about.
i want to go home.
but i tell her it’s ok, whatever she wants.
i don’t tell her how hungry i am, either.
because i don’t want her to be sad.
she looks sad.
she looks scared.

maybe she’s scared that i’ll die, like my friend mary.
mary and her mama were walking with us before.
but then mary got very sick, a few days ago.
she died, and that’s when mary’s mama stopped walking with us.
the night before she left, i heard my mama trying to tell her to stay.
she thought i was asleep, but i wasn’t.
i heard her talk about scary things.
she said words like torture and massacre.
but mary’s mama still left.

sometimes, at night, i wonder where my papa is.
i block out the sounds of the fighting and i try to remember his face.
i hope he’s not in trouble.
i used to ask my mama about him,
but she got very upset.
so i stopped asking.

before he left, he told me he was going fight, and it was a good thing.
a good thing for this country, he said.
good?
i know - maybe he’s gone to stop the fighting.
then we can go to france.

Say a prayer today for a child living in a refugee camp, and offer some thanks for the safety and security we all too often take for granted.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

A Writing Award, A Courageous Girl and Our Basic Right

Back in March, I won a provincial writing award for this piece. Total God-thing, more on that at the end.

The Moment It Went Dark
based on true events

Later, you’ll find it a little ironic and kind of symbolic that they chose your head. Not your heart or lungs, but your head - more specifically, your brain - the thing they didn’t want you to develop. 

However, right now, in this millisecond between the moment the bullet connects with your skull and the moment everything goes black, everything flashes before your eyes.

Your first day of school. The anticipation and excitement, the strict discipline and the reverent thankfulness because you know what a privilege this is. You’re nearly bursting with joy at the thought - you will be a literate woman.

Throughout the days you soak in all the knowledge, all the wisdom, that this place called school has to offer. The smell of the dusty chalkboards and the feeling of the hard wooden chairs and desks - you wouldn’t trade it for anything. The sounds of girls writing and asking questions sparks a sweet feeling in your chest. You know you must share this amazing gift with all the girls of your country. So, at a tender young age you become an advocate. You speak out against cultural boundaries and social stigmas, because girls deserve education just as much as boys.

You make progress. More girls are going to school, and you have become somewhat of an icon, although you don’t really see yourself as one. People know your name. Sometimes, you’re even stopped in the street by someone who tells you how amazing and courageous you are. You’re told that you’re a hero. Then the trouble begins.

They ban girls’ education. You’re upset, but remain optimistic. You think everything will be okay. Your school closes for awhile, but not for long. Soon you’re able to return to school, even though the ban hasn’t been lifted. They aren’t the government, so technically it isn’t illegal, but they have power, because they instill a gripping fear on the people of your county. You and the other girls who continue to go to school know the risks of your blatant disobedience.

Only ten girls continue to attend school. This saddens you. The classroom is sparse and quieter than usual. Even some of your teachers are not present. The mood is less lively and the girls are low-spirited because of the effect the ban has had on girls’ education. You all live in fear of your school being attacked by those opposed to girls’ education. You all make do, though, and you continue to learn. As long as you and others who want to can learn, you are happy, and that sweet feeling in your chest continues.

You continue to be a young advocate for girls’ education. You write (because you know how!) and you speak to groups of people when invited to. For years and years, girls have been denied education in your country, but you can see an end to that. You see hope. You feel motivated, and although there’s reason to be afraid, you’re not.

However, soon the death threats start. One day, while you’re walking home, someone calls after you, “I’ll kill you!” You’re not sure if they are talking to you or not, but terror suddenly rushes through you. You feel yourself panicking and you practically run all the way home.

Soon, you are sure they’re talking to you. The threats become stronger and more clearly directed towards you.

This won’t stop you, though. You will not back down. You continue to attend school, as do some of the other girls. You continue to stand up to them - those who say girls can not attend school. The teachers try their best to protect you and your classmates. “Do not wear a uniform, or brightly coloured clothes,” they say, “It will draw unwanted attention.” You follow their guidelines as closely as possible, but you know that because of your minor fame and very public defiance, you can do little to protect yourself while traveling to and from school.

Today started like any other day. You wake up and get dressed in a very average, non-schoolgirl-type dress. You walk through the dusty streets to the bus and ride with your friends. You get to school and learn math, writing and science. The clicks of chalk against the chalkboard and the murmurs of girls excited to learn delight you. You love it. Like you do everyday, you wish every girl got this opportunity. You get on the bus to go home. You ride with your friends. You step out off the bus, and hear the gunshot. You gasp, and everything goes black.

On October 9th, 2012, Malala Yousafzai, a young Pakistani schoolgirl and an outspoken advocate for girls’ education was shot in the head by the Taliban because of her advocacy. Against all odds, she survived and is now recovering in hospital. Her courage is an inspiration to us all.

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My teacher introduces this writing contest two months before the deadline. I pick up the form and it collects dust for two months. 

The day I think it's due, I run up to her and ask if there's still time. She says it was supposed to be due yesterday, but she can give me two more days, give it to her on Friday. 

Thursday night I sit and stare at a blank New Document for two hours. And then I just write. 

Somehow, all that up there came out. 

God's cool like that.

And then, they made a video about it, and I got to share a little bit about my passion for giving a voice to the voiceless and about Him who gives me strength. It was such a God-thing: 

My segment starts around the 8:35 mark.

RSS readers/email subscribers: Here's the link to the video. :)

The most common question I got: Why Malala?

Because - she is so courageous. Because from the moment I heard about her I was so inspired by this girl almost exactly the same age as me - and just as passionate about giving a voice to the voiceless.

I consider myself an advocate, yet I ask myself, would I be so brave? How easily could I have been Malala, born into the world of an illiterate woman, and would I really have stood like she does?

Malala Yousafzai inspired me, and I so wanted to share her story through my words, somehow stand with her in this small way.

And why am I sharing this now, you ask? Three months after the award was presented to me?

Because - this Friday is Malala's 16th birthday, deemed #MalalaDay. To mark the day, Malala will make a public address at the United Nations in New York, demanding action in the fight for universal education and proving that the bullet to her head will not silence her. Read more here.

via @_girlwithabook

That man who stepped on the bus and shot Malala last October - he failed. Because she will continue her fight for education for all. Malala will not stay silent - she will continue to stand up for every child who will not attend school today, tomorrow, possibly ever.

We can stand with her. You can sign this petition to add your voice to the growing group who will stand with Malala on Friday, demanding education for every child.

It is one of our Millennium Development Goals - achieve universal primary education.

via @WeCanEndPoverty

It's not too late. Malala's voice is stronger than ever, and ours can be too.

Education shouldn't be a privilege - because it is a right. Let's treat it like one.
I think of it often and imagine the scene clearly. Even if they come to kill me, I will tell them that what they are trying to do is wrong, that education is our basic right. 
- Malala Yousafzai 

Saturday, July 6, 2013

The Light

This was my Media Arts ISU this year. We were supposed to write an 8 line poem and then create an image to go with each line - this is what I came up with. :)

Media: Photography. Borrowed photos are credited in the caption, otherwise I took them myself. All editing was done on www.picmonkey.com.


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photo credits: Alexander Olsson Photography

photo credits: Keely Marie Scott Photography

photo credits: My Mom






"For you were once in darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light." Ephesians 5:8

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Saturday, April 16, 2011

My Art

I was recently inspired, I guess, to try photo editing. Here's some of my stuff. Enjoy! :)








Sunday, March 20, 2011

Trying Something New...

So, I decided to try some random indoor photography, tell me what you think! :P





Hope you like it! :)
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