Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Merry Christmas... in an interesting sort of way

Last year we complained too much about my mother's excellently written Christmas letters. So this year she told me it was my job. Below is my final product. I believe that most Christmas letters are rather boring, but I endeavored to keep ours from being so. You'll wish you were part of my family.

I believe this is all I shall write until the new year, so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Life is so exciting!!!

Well, dear family and friends,

It has finally happened. Last year, amid a storm of protests and corrections, our dear mother resigned her position as Christmas letter writer. The task was delegated to the children. I believe that the traditional way of writing these letters is to give each person a paragraph, (I don’t know… I’ve never done this before.) However, as I begin to compose this letter, I realized that, as a whole, we’ve had a rather boring year. So I made a few improvements.

We shall start with the youngest. Poor little Erika so often gets over-looked. Just this summer as she was back-packing up to Machu Picchu she almost was over-looked at the cost of her life. Everyone else had gotten out of the canoe, and then forgot about Erika, on top of that, they forgot to tie up the canoe. Erika had a perilous few hours battling giant alligators and wrestling her duffle bag away from a python, but we are happy to say that she survived and even made friends with some excellent natives. The results of her voyage were extremely profitable. She is now on staff at National Geographic.

Alex, on the other hand, had a quiet year at home. He did begin a modeling career specializing in men’s suits, and last January was named People Magazine’s “Hottest Hunk of the Year.” Not being one to waste his success or new fame, Alex decided to use his new found popularity as a campaign platform to fight for duck safety. He has installed a total of 376 “Duck Crossings” this past year. In addition to this rigorous philanthropy, Alex has created a cure for the hiccoughs and developed a line of scented socks. Once again in the running, not only for People Magazine, but also Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year,” Alex has continued to demonstrate a very humble personality.

Trevor. What can I say about Trevor? We only have one paragraph to dedicate to this incredible boy’s year, but oh what a year it has been. When he was offered the position of “Extreme Scenario Weapon Tester” for the U.S. Army, he jumped at the chance, literally. Aparently, before sending troups out into dangerous or unusual circumstances with certain weapons, the Army likes to test these weapons in these settings in order to know how they will behave. Trevor is one of the testers. He tested weapons in an Antarctic blizzard, a Sahara sand storm, and even jumped out of an air craft in fog over Mongolia. What a brave servant of our country…

Mom and Dad got a little lonely this year. After all, there are only six of us. So they decided to adopt two more. Although our new arrivals have not appeared yet, rumor has it that they will be virtuosos in the violin and piano. Meanwhile, Mums and Dads have continued to run one of the finest academic establishments in the Western Hemisphere. Mum has taken on a speaking tour, educating the populous about their lack of education, and Dad has opened several furniture stores across the country. He sells only the finest of his hand-crafted products.

As for me… Well, life has been a little dull recently. Granted, I did just sign a contract to work with Steven Spielberg on his new film, but my latest movie only garnered four Oscars instead of my traditional seven. However, the orphanages I just established in Somalia are going well, and I plan on taking a trip to the Gambia to see about the need for one there. I also achieved my goal of mastering bungee jumping and parasailing. And just last week I learned how to hang glide off of Aires Rock in Australia with the Aborigines.

Yes, it has been a rather exhausting year, but as a whole we are all successful, happy, and very glad that Christmas time has arrived once again. Once again we’re all together celebrating the birth of the Baby King. We pray that your year has been as thrilling as ours, and that your New Year will bring many more adventures!

Merry Christmas!

P.S. As mother of the Blakes, I cannot vouch for the truth of anything in this letter. -Susan

Saturday, December 17, 2005

A Funny Knot.... but why not?

Do you ever get that strange, tight knot in your stomach? It clenches up tight and twists around.

I just wonder what could have happened.... Why does it always seem to be (just slightly) out of my grasp? I got so excited, I'm not going to lie. I liked it. Like wearing a smile all the time and feeling like skipping everywhere you go. That's what it felt like.

But then something changed. I think it was a reality check. A, "WHOA! Courtney! Don't go there!" And suddenly the happiness changed. No, it didn't really leave... but something new came. This knot. This little twinge of knowing, of accepting... again. Of once again having to look at God and say. "Okay. I won't. You're right."

Not to say that I've said it quite that willingly. I'm afraid I'm entering my foot-stamping mode. My, "WHY!?!? WHY? Why?..... why?" And I've started the whole questioning thing again, "What don't I understand? Why like this? Why this way? Why not me? Why is it never going to come? Sure, I know it's crazy, far-fetched, but you're a great God, so why not me?"

Please.

He's so wonderful....


please.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

WARNING: BAD DAY

Okay, I lost it today. Completely. Utterly. Curled up in a ball on my futon bawling my eyes out. Shaking. It looked, in all practical senses, like I was having an emotional, physical break down.

Perhaps I was.

Today I learned two horrible things. (Well, they were horrible for me.)

1) I have a genetic disease that makes it impossible (or very difficult) for my body to digest gluten. This means that carbohydrates, in general, are bad for me.

2) I just got an e-mail from my Spanish TA informing me that I would NOT get an A in Spanish. My 4.0 GPA went up in smoke.

So, yes, I started to cry. And I couldn't stop. And I just wanted to disappear. Not only is my body not functioning correctly, and I have to rule out carbs, but apparently my brain isn't working all that well either. I don't care what they say in PBF, I'm never going to be able to say, "Praise God, I got a B." NO. I think that's bad stewardship. I am capable of "A's" so I should get them, no questions.

So, for the past half an hour I have been reeling through all the times in my mind when I could have been studying Spanish, and didn't, and also making mental lists of everything that I can't eat now.

I try to tell myself that there are people out there who are suffering much more. Starvation, persecution, family struggles, depression, suicide. But I'm afraid I'm a very selfish human being, and all I can see is my own problems. So, on top of everything else, I'm an ungrateful wretch. Great.

Tonight is the final for my worst class.

No question, this has been a horrible day.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Harriet Returns

Harriet was in a slump. She twitched her nose disconsolatly and heaved a sigh. Then she stopped. Resituated herself. Half-closed her eyes. And gave a gentle exhalation. She squinted open one eye and looked at herself in the mirror. (She liked being in front of mirrors.)

"Bother!" She sat up straight and made a nasty face at herself in the looking glass. In her mind she had completely recreated herself as a languishing heroine and the truth, which stared back at her in the mirror, was anything but enjoyable. "It's no good. It simply can't be managed..."

And with that she walked slowly to the window ledge. She had been playing in the attic one day, (the attic had all the good mirror, old jewelry and poofy feathers required to play dress up) and on that one day she had seen something that had changed her life. (Or rather, she liked to think that it changed her life, Harriet was always getting little thrills that "changed her life" but in reality rarely did.) She had been standing by the window (pretending to be a damsel in distress) when all of a sudden a bright red bird flew by. He was very attractive. Sharp dresser (Harriet liked that) and he had a very business-like way of approaching everything. He strode cockily across the branches and arched and dipped whenever he flew. He was showing off. Harriet liked to imagine that he was trying to impress her. And gradually she grew to believe herself... He came back, day after day, and he seemed to get more cocky and sure of himself. (Harriet just thought he was cuter.) She started to primp and practice flirtatious eyelash flickers in the mirror. Yesterday she had done a very nice job and was looking incredibly nice (or so she told herself).

Then she had seen her.

There, perched in the bows of the tree, just below the window was a little bird. She was tiny and brown. No flashy red. No flirtatious eye-batting. She just sat there. Quietly. And watched.

She was the reason he had kept coming back. (I am afraid that at this point Harriet stamped her foot in vexation.) Harriet tried to find some fault with the girl bird. (Yes, it must be admitted at this point that Harriet is not always very nice.) She was hyper-critical and pretended not to care.

But in reality Harriet did care. She cared very very much. But the more Harriet watched the more she saw how nice the little brown bird was. She was even beginning to think that the little brown bird was nicer than the flashy guy bird.

And so, although Harriet cared very, very much, and although Harriet wanted to cry more than anything else in the world.

She didn't.

Because Harriet was a very brave mouse. A brave mouse who wasn't going to let one (okay two... maybe three- that she'll admit to) disappointments ruin her life. She was brave.

So she decided to see the world...

to be continued...

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Enough!

(Warning: the following is a full-blown rant that is being written in the heat of the moment. Please take that into consideration when you read it.)

Okay, I think I've done it. Haven't I done it?

I've been stretched, pulled, and yanked along towards growth. Every difficult situation this year that I never thought I would have to deal with, I have had to. Every time I thought, "Okay, maybe now it will be a little easier, maybe now I'll have a break." WHAM! something would hit me square in the face.

I've GROWN!!! I know I have! I'm tired of being pulled further! Can't I just rest? Can't I just live? Can't God reach a point where He says: "Yes, Courtney, you're not perfect, but I'm going to give you a break. I'm going to just let you relax. Don't worry. No more horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad things will happen to you for at least a month. Just relax, take a break. You need it."

BUT HE HASN'T SAID IT.

I'm beginning to realize that it's never coming. Never. I can cross my fingers, I can whine, I can cry, but I'm never going to get that vacation from spiritual growth that I've always wanted.

I WANT IT!

I've had enough of feeling insecure, alone, stupid, incompetent. I'm tired of always messing up, always having to trust. I've had enough of not seeing the future, I've had enough of constant struggle.

I've had enough falling down and failing.

Enough.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

"Husband Day"

Princess Prunilda was having a horrible day. To start off with, the name "Prunilda" would make any day absolutely unbearable. And PRINCESS Prunilda was even worse. The alliteration made her skin crawl. But today had decided to heap even more indignities on the princess, and, as you well know, indignities are not to be born by even the most angelic princess. They hurt her pride, and, as you also know, pride is one of the things that makes her a princess. (Just a smidgen, mind you.) No, today there was more than the burden of the world's worst name. Today was just ALL WRONG.

To begin with her toast had burnt. Black toast is nasty, especially if you have an economical queen mama who makes you scrape the bread and eat it any way. Then the maid had ironed her skirt backwards. This meant that all the wrinkles and crinkles were now at the front of the dress, because this was a very lazy maid who forgot to iron all the way around. Her father finally found the mirror she had broken in the upper hall, and her brother called her a "fat old hag."Her bath was cold, and she got soap in her eyes. Her hair decided to rebel and rather than be silky smooth, or glossy ringlets- it chose to resemble a hay stack. Bad hair days are hard enough, but add in the name Prunilda, burnt toast, bad ironing, broken mirror, "fat old hag" cold bath, and soap in the eye, and I think you will all agree- Prunilda was having an awful day.

But that's not the worst of it.

Today was a "husband day." At least, that's what Prunilda called it. I believe it was more commonly known as "Royal Audiences" but everyone knew better. For, you see, Prunilda was now almost 21 years old. At 21 every princess must be married. If they're not, they immediately become dowagers and have to wear black to every party. At that point it is generally accepted that they are "on the shelf." Prunilda did not want to be "on the shelf" but neither did she like "husband days." On "husband day" countless bachelors visited the king and queen. And Prunilda too, of course. She sat in the grand throne room with her mother and father on either side. They all looked regal and every man came in, bowed, and spoke a few words. If Prunilda liked the look of him, she would tap her fan twice. If she didn't- she merely opened the fan and fluttered her eyelashes. The tap twice men got an invitation to dinner. The open fan, flutter eyelashes... well, they were escorted out.

So far there had been only one "tap twice" man. He had come to dinner and refused asparagus (Prunilda's favorite), he had made jokes about the king during their walk through the garden (not nice jokes, and Prunilda loved her king papa), and he shown a propensity (expressed through his yellow gartered stockings) to flout conventionalty. Prunilda like a certain degree of conventionality. He was a nice man. But not Prunilda's type.

So here was another husband day. Prunilda sat very straight (because her mother occasionally jabbed her in the back with her fan) and tried to look regal, but it is very hard to look regal with a hay stack on your head and wrinkles down the front of your gown.

The first man came in. He was quite dapper looking. Very attractive. Prunilda sat up straighter even though her mother's fan wasn't prodding her. He bowed. And then he began to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. He wouldn't shut up. Prunilda opened her fan very widely and they dragged him out after putting duct tape over his mouth. Even then, Prunilda was pretty sure he was still talking.

Next followed several boring ones. There were always lots of those. Prunilda had thought that she was now used to the horrible dullness of it, but she wasn't. They were just so terribly normal. Yes, you may label Prunilda as a fickle princess, for indeed she is. After all, she didn't like the non-conventional man with the garters, but then, she also didn't like the conventional men who all wore grey pants. Prunilda yawned behind her fan as another man was escorted out. Why did they all look the same? And was it just her, or were they all saying the same thing too?

But the mundaneness soon ended. Right about the time that Prunilda started glancing at her watch every 10 seconds to see if it was lunch time- things began to get interesting...

First there were the two brothers who seemed to be a little unclear about why exactly they were seeing the king and queen. I do believe that they were slightly deaf and instead of "Royal Audience" they heard something else. I wish I could tell you what exactly they thought they heard, but it was hard to talk to them.
"Your majesties, the Herkelmein brothers." (The very rotund brothers bowed)
"We have come, your majesty, for the chicken."
"I'm sorry," said the king, "But I dont' understand.
"No, no," protested the brother on the right, " no curry, and we don't want it underdone. We always eat our meat thoroughly cooked." His brother nodded vigorously.
"I'm afraid you're confused. There's no fowl."
The other brother spoke up: "No, there's no need to be afraid of a muse. They're quite harmless. I see one every month so I can find out what day to buy my milk on. Buying milk is tricky, you know, have to get it at just the right time. Muses are harmless. Not at all "foul" as you implied."
At this point the king was nonplussed and the queen looking rather puzzled. Prunilda was laughing.

However, at this exact moment, the footmen decided to show in another man. (One of the footmen was jealous because the otherfootman had just made a lemon custard pie which had won the annual, "Footmen's Lemon Custard Pie Bake-Off" so he instructed the winning footman to escort a new person in even though it wasn't time. I think he hoped that this would get him demoted.) Into the room walked a very large, very swaggering man bearing in his hands two chickens. Some men came with gifts for the princess, but as of yet, no one had brought the princess a chicken. The man thought to make an impression.

And he did.

The identical fat brothers both reached for the chickens.
"Thank you, Mr. Servant, most kind."
"Yes, thank you for delivering them fresh." Now, no man reacts well to having his chickens, meant especially for the princess grabbed out of his hands by two pompous bulbous brothers, and this man was a man of limited vocabulary and few words. He had hoped the chicken would make up for his lack of elocution. (He didn't know the princess had a phobia of fowls.)
"No. Mine."
"No time? I know we don't have much time, brother, don't we have dentist appointments at noon?"
"Give to princess." grunted the big man
"Go to recess? What do you think we are? Children? We may be short, my fine fellow, but we are not dumb! Don't ever treat us like that. Now, GIVE ME THE CHICKEN." During this whole time there had been a mild tug of war going on between the both of them for the chicken, but now it errupted into a brawl.

The queen and king watched in horror (and Prunilda with fascinated delight) chicken feathers flew and the two little fat men pummelled the giant's legs in attempts to hurl him to the ground.

I believe that eventually the castle guard had to be called. At any rate, the throne room was cleared with some difficulty, and the exhausted queen and irrate king went to eat their chicken salad lunch.

Prunilda stood up slowly. There were feathers all over the floor. She grinned. Not the worst husband day ever... then she sighed. Still no "Prince Charming".... A puff of feather poofed around her feet as she stepped off the dias. Despite herself a small smile twitched around her mouth, then a grin, a chuckle, and suddenly she sand to the floor roaring in laughter.

All well, so he hadn't shown up today. Who cares? Life was hilarious, wonderful, and slightly odd.

And there was always next "husband day."

Beads of Sorrow



It was a strange place. One like I had never seen before. I stood very quietly, right in the middle. Almost afraid to move, almost afraid the breath.

There were trees. All around. As far as I eye could see. Trees. I could see no light and felt no wind. Despite the seeming infinity of this strange forest, I felt as though I was locked in a dark, damp box.

I became slowly aware that light was in the room for how else would I have seen the trees? Carefully, I moved closer to a large pine on my right. There, suspended from each branch, each twig, each needle were little balls of water. It looked as trees often look after a shower or perhaps a heavy dew. The light was coming from each drop. Clear light. But painful. Somehow it made the darkness of the "forest" worse. Something in me revolted against those little beads of water. Something wanted to run from them. But that was irrational. So I moved closer.

Then I saw. And I shut my eyes. Everything in me began to scream. I felt my jaw clench convulsively and I began to feel the stab of pain from behind my eyes that always precludes tears. But I couldn't cry. And I couldn't scream. And I couldn't keep my eyes closed. Slowly they opened.

There, mirrored flawlessly in each little droplet of water was a person. I could see their life. I could see what they were doing. Thousands and thousands of dramas were being played out in front of my very eyes. I could see a little Chinese girl, and there, right next to her was an American grandma. Old, young, every nationality, every economic cast, every religion. They were all there. They all had one thing in common.

Crying.

They were all crying.

I could sit here and write every sorrow that I saw. I could detail the anguish that each soul felt. Standing there I seemed to absorb their hurt. You felt more in this forest, than I believe I had ever felt anywhere before. But writing every drama is not my job. I can't. There are too many. That's not my job.

Slowly I turned around.

I could see now. I saw the entire forest. Each tree hung with raindrops. Each raindrop filled with pain.

I think my knees gave out from under me. I don't really remember, because at that moment I heard something that I'll never forget.

A song. Though at first I was not even sure that's what it was. But it was soothing. Quiet.

And loving.

There was a man. He was slightly hunched and I could see deepening lines in his forehead. His hands were cupped and he was holding something. He turned toward me. I saw now, tears streaming down his face. And somehow those tears seemed so much stronger, more powerful, and deeper than the thousands I had just seen cried. He felt it more, because he love more. There in his hands he held a little bead of water. He was watching that one person. And he was crying.

I leaned closer.

It was me. He was crying as he looked in my tear drop. I remembered the agony I had just seen in others, and suddenly my tears, my pain, my fear- it all seemed rather inconsequential. But it still hurt. And he knew. He was crying for me. Something within me crumpled. I looked at his eyes and he smiled the smile that said, "I love you. I know. And I'm here. I'm all you need."

I laid my head on his shoulder and began to cry.

The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing. (Zephaniah 3:17)