It seems like in the past years, whenever something was about to happen, there would be a stirring in our hearts. A feeling of restlessness that starts to tug at your heart and make you a bit on edge of what could be right around the corner. But you can't see it. Somewhere up there though it's about to come into view.
I sort of have that feeling now...like the road that I'm on is going to turn and open up into where God is taking us next. I'm kind of uncertain what that could mean and how big that change will be. Well I guess I'm completely uncertain, seeing as to how I don't know what it is:) But I know it's important for me not to be so anxious for the change that I focus on it more than on Jesus. It's hard to take every thought captive though, even when I read of it so often in the Bible. But thoughts are sneaky! They burst in a million directions like little fireworks that never fall down, and then you lose them altogether. Sometimes I can't even finish a sentence or ask a question because my thought up and left town. Right there. In the middle of me saying it. So aggravating. And rather difficult to sort through as well. Sneaky little buggers.
But the winds do feel different right now, and not just because the seasons are changing outside. Maybe the seasons are changing inside too...which catapults you into a new adventure completely. One that I welcome and hope that I won't freak out in;)
Seeing the wind change in a different direction reminds me of Mary Poppins...when all the nannies that are lined up outside the house are blown away without any difficulty. The leaves rustled and the feet of those seemingly potential blessings lifted right off the ground to be sent on their way somewhere else, making room for the real blessing to come down and walk into their lives. I hope that's what is happening now. That the Lord's fulfillment will come, and when it does, that it will blow away all doubts and all anxiety...right into the sky. And making way for the awesome promise that He gave and the calling that He placed on my heart to be more evident.
Good gosh, I just saw one of those little yapper dogs today, just like the one in Mary Poppins. Strangely, that dog looks like the one from the Wizard of Oz. And wouldn't you know, it was riding in the basket on the front of a bike. So those people rode by me on their bikes with their little yapper dog in the basket looking around frantically, most likely searching for Dorothy. And did I sing the theme song for when the wicked witch rode on her bike through the tornado as they did so? Yes I did. It was only right. I hope the wind that's coming isn't THAT kind of wind. Tornadoes that send you to a land of people who talk like they've been inhaling helium all day is not exactly my cup o' tea. I don't mind the short, I'm not much taller than the short. But the helium thing would get old after awhile. Definitely. Well....that is, after I asked them to sing the song from those fabulous Chipmunks cartoons....good stuff:)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Sockland
The old cloud is looming in front of me....it's getting closer...and closer...and pretty soon it's going to backslap me into Grannyville. I shall turn 26 on the 26th. Sure, it sounds innocent enough. Gosh it even sounds young! But that's when it get's you....the old cloud. Raining on your Youth Parade and making you depressed. One day you're smiling and enjoying the drama of your teen years and then Wham! You wake up and your 35, driving a pack of soccer kids in the back of your old-people van while wearing mom pants up to your armpits. Then Wham! You wake up again and you're 75, wearing orthopedic shoes and buying Estee Lauder perfume after you get your hair done in the shape of a football helmet. I'm serious. You snap your fingers and time is shooting ahead at warp speed so fast that even Data from Star Trek couldn't help you figure out what happened. Even the fact that I remember watching original episodes of Star Trek means I'm old! Ah! Maybe I could use the Reading Rainbow guy's special sun visor/eyeglasses thing to let me look back at my youth..it's a thought.
Where do all those years go anyway? That's what I think to myself, and that's what my mom asks me occasionally. My answer: where all the socks are. And all the socks must be in Sockland, because...well I don't know why, but I think it sounds logical. There is a tiny magic portal in all the dryers that somehow slips our socks into an endless land of space, where those poor socks will live forever without a mate. Such a tragedy...for them AND for us, because hey! We want our socks! Maybe all our missing years slip into that wacky land too, so we can be left wigging out because we graduated from high school and then walked right into retirement. I dunno.
I guess it's just not something you can escape really. You get older, hopefully you get wiser...and time goes on. It lasts forever when you're in school though, how is that? In school 3 minutes feel like 3 decades. Such a mysterious phenomenon, time. I still don't get it yet but I hope I can obtain even the slightest sliver of more understanding on it. I just know that my timing is not God's timing. When I feel like I'm ready to move on, many times I have to wait longer. It can get frustrating.
But I'm glad that even though I have no clue where I'll be or for how long, I can at least feel peace knowing that I'm not forgotten. God knows my heart and He knows when I am truly ready to get where He's leading me to be. It can be grueling when you have to be still and wait. I think it's harder than when you're out doing hard work, because you have to fight yourself and train your will to obey the voice of the Lord. Extremely difficult...especially when you inherited stubborn from both sides of your family. But it will be worth it in the end when I finally get to the destination He's placed on my heart because I'll be disciplined and ready to go.
"He satisfies my desires with good things, so that my youth is renewed like the eagle's."
Psalm 103: 5
I'm not going to Sockland though. Definitely not. If everyone's socks go there, then I'm sure it's a wasteland of countless colors and labels that would put Hanes and Fruit of the Loom both to shame, combined! And I honestly can't imagine the smell of the old. I'm sure the socks would be somewhat clean, considering they would have come from the dryer, and that is generally where normal people put them after they've been washed. But the lost years, now hmmm...I'm not sure if that would be noticable....but I know what old smells like. Collard greens and feet. Yuck. No, I do not think that will ever be a destination on my map of places to see. And if I ever happened to stumble through the portal to Sockland, I would just have to say, "Beam me up Scottie, before I hear the sound of The Price Is Right coming on!"
Beware of the old cloud, it'll get ya...
Where do all those years go anyway? That's what I think to myself, and that's what my mom asks me occasionally. My answer: where all the socks are. And all the socks must be in Sockland, because...well I don't know why, but I think it sounds logical. There is a tiny magic portal in all the dryers that somehow slips our socks into an endless land of space, where those poor socks will live forever without a mate. Such a tragedy...for them AND for us, because hey! We want our socks! Maybe all our missing years slip into that wacky land too, so we can be left wigging out because we graduated from high school and then walked right into retirement. I dunno.
I guess it's just not something you can escape really. You get older, hopefully you get wiser...and time goes on. It lasts forever when you're in school though, how is that? In school 3 minutes feel like 3 decades. Such a mysterious phenomenon, time. I still don't get it yet but I hope I can obtain even the slightest sliver of more understanding on it. I just know that my timing is not God's timing. When I feel like I'm ready to move on, many times I have to wait longer. It can get frustrating.
But I'm glad that even though I have no clue where I'll be or for how long, I can at least feel peace knowing that I'm not forgotten. God knows my heart and He knows when I am truly ready to get where He's leading me to be. It can be grueling when you have to be still and wait. I think it's harder than when you're out doing hard work, because you have to fight yourself and train your will to obey the voice of the Lord. Extremely difficult...especially when you inherited stubborn from both sides of your family. But it will be worth it in the end when I finally get to the destination He's placed on my heart because I'll be disciplined and ready to go.
"He satisfies my desires with good things, so that my youth is renewed like the eagle's."
Psalm 103: 5
I'm not going to Sockland though. Definitely not. If everyone's socks go there, then I'm sure it's a wasteland of countless colors and labels that would put Hanes and Fruit of the Loom both to shame, combined! And I honestly can't imagine the smell of the old. I'm sure the socks would be somewhat clean, considering they would have come from the dryer, and that is generally where normal people put them after they've been washed. But the lost years, now hmmm...I'm not sure if that would be noticable....but I know what old smells like. Collard greens and feet. Yuck. No, I do not think that will ever be a destination on my map of places to see. And if I ever happened to stumble through the portal to Sockland, I would just have to say, "Beam me up Scottie, before I hear the sound of The Price Is Right coming on!"
Beware of the old cloud, it'll get ya...
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Painting The Roses Red
I've had my share of jobs over the years, one of which was my short stint as a florist. But don't call us that.....the correct term is floral designer. Yep. Sounds so much more professional, doesn't it? I know..stuartess/flight attendant..whatever. Silliness abounds.
While I worked at a fairly large warehouse for flowers, the Valentine's Day boom came. Such a grueling experience....a thousand red roses arrived everyday, different kinds that had to be unloaded and prepared. I got so sick of seeing those little buggers in every corner of sight that I think they will always be my least favorite flower. And I like flowers, so that is a weird thing considering every girl is supposed to love red roses. I guess that's just another thing that makes my weird level go up, and it's already pretty high, so I think I could be bordering on freak. But I'm still not wacky enough to grab a little paint brush with the card soldiers and start slapping red paint over the flowers to escape an angry-eyed queen from screaming, "Off with her head!" Queen or no queen, there won't be red roses for me. She will just have to face my squinty eyes and that is all there is to it. She would most likely be intimidated by that because my squinty eyes are fiercesome.
I do love flowers though. I love the way they smell, and they're just bright and cheerful if only for a short time. But they are interesting to me...they remind me of people in a way. Unique and different, yet still in little bunches with similar looking flowers. Ofcourse, people are obviously more unique and interesting because we are all created for something more. We've got hearts that long for love and swirl with feelings, brains that tick around like a clock in our heads with ideas and vision, and bodies that we can discipline to be stronger and better everyday. God made us with an incredible amount of detail, it's absolutely amazing.
But yet like flowers, we are fragile and small. Some of us may grow to be taller and wider (or as many would like to call it: big boned) but we're still fragile. One storm can blow us away. One gust of wind can knock us down. Even one drop of rain can hit us hard and make us disoriented. Some have more hurts than others, with those thorns sticking out and jabbing you in order to protect themselves. Some are very noticeable and easily recognized, while others still are so tiny that you accidentally step on them because you never see them. And with all of these flowers/people, we stick with living around other flowers that look like us and live like us, never experiencing anything beyond our own gardens of safety. How sad for us. Endless kinds of flowers with endless colors, and shapes, and fragrances and names...but yet the only flower we know by heart is the red rose. I wonder what we're so scared of anyway..maybe being called a weed.
I hope that I can stop seeing people as clumps of the same flower, and see more in them...the way God can look at me and see a potential for something greater. In spite of my silly ways and stubborn tendencies, He doesn't ever throw me into a pile with other flowers. He sees me, and He loves me anyway:)
Well I'm off now, that white rabbit is still a good ways ahead of me. He thought he could lose me in Florida because of the old people trying to drive Miss Daisy in front of me with their golf carts, but it's not going to work. He's goin' down. But until I catch up with him, I guess I'll be singing with the lovely flowers I meet along the way and maybe keeping my eyes open for the odd advise of a looney cat....
"For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well."
Psalm 139: 13-14
"A voice says, "Cry out." And I said, "What shall I cry?" "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the Word of our God stands forever.""
Isaiah 40: 6-8
While I worked at a fairly large warehouse for flowers, the Valentine's Day boom came. Such a grueling experience....a thousand red roses arrived everyday, different kinds that had to be unloaded and prepared. I got so sick of seeing those little buggers in every corner of sight that I think they will always be my least favorite flower. And I like flowers, so that is a weird thing considering every girl is supposed to love red roses. I guess that's just another thing that makes my weird level go up, and it's already pretty high, so I think I could be bordering on freak. But I'm still not wacky enough to grab a little paint brush with the card soldiers and start slapping red paint over the flowers to escape an angry-eyed queen from screaming, "Off with her head!" Queen or no queen, there won't be red roses for me. She will just have to face my squinty eyes and that is all there is to it. She would most likely be intimidated by that because my squinty eyes are fiercesome.
I do love flowers though. I love the way they smell, and they're just bright and cheerful if only for a short time. But they are interesting to me...they remind me of people in a way. Unique and different, yet still in little bunches with similar looking flowers. Ofcourse, people are obviously more unique and interesting because we are all created for something more. We've got hearts that long for love and swirl with feelings, brains that tick around like a clock in our heads with ideas and vision, and bodies that we can discipline to be stronger and better everyday. God made us with an incredible amount of detail, it's absolutely amazing.
But yet like flowers, we are fragile and small. Some of us may grow to be taller and wider (or as many would like to call it: big boned) but we're still fragile. One storm can blow us away. One gust of wind can knock us down. Even one drop of rain can hit us hard and make us disoriented. Some have more hurts than others, with those thorns sticking out and jabbing you in order to protect themselves. Some are very noticeable and easily recognized, while others still are so tiny that you accidentally step on them because you never see them. And with all of these flowers/people, we stick with living around other flowers that look like us and live like us, never experiencing anything beyond our own gardens of safety. How sad for us. Endless kinds of flowers with endless colors, and shapes, and fragrances and names...but yet the only flower we know by heart is the red rose. I wonder what we're so scared of anyway..maybe being called a weed.
I hope that I can stop seeing people as clumps of the same flower, and see more in them...the way God can look at me and see a potential for something greater. In spite of my silly ways and stubborn tendencies, He doesn't ever throw me into a pile with other flowers. He sees me, and He loves me anyway:)
Well I'm off now, that white rabbit is still a good ways ahead of me. He thought he could lose me in Florida because of the old people trying to drive Miss Daisy in front of me with their golf carts, but it's not going to work. He's goin' down. But until I catch up with him, I guess I'll be singing with the lovely flowers I meet along the way and maybe keeping my eyes open for the odd advise of a looney cat....
"For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well."
Psalm 139: 13-14
"A voice says, "Cry out." And I said, "What shall I cry?" "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the Word of our God stands forever.""
Isaiah 40: 6-8
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The Breaking Point
Since my days as a daredevil have been established, I guess it's safe to say that I can move on to how I became somewhat of a gypsy..
The older that we got, the more apparent it became that my dad was not going to be the kind of dad you assume you should have. When we were very young, he was too busy with sports to spend much time with us, which turned out to be a blessing now that we look back...because he was an angry man. We grew closer to my mom but more distant from my dad, especially through the teen years. Those years seemed to escalate the angry fits we heard, as we became more vocal in disagreeing with him. We went to church every Sunday and were always very involved, including my dad, who would usually become a leader in a Men's Ministry or Sunday School Teaching. But then we would go home and see him change from the nice & friendly church goer, to the short tempered man that created tension. We knew it was wrong, we knew he shouldn't be that way...living with different faces. But what could we do about it? Just get more frustrated I guess.
The alarming traits in this man were not just anger and hatefulness, but also scheming and manipulation. It was scary actually. To find out more and more just from watching someone that they would plan what to say to someone and how long to say it until they knew they would eventually get the reaction they wanted. If we had known then what would happen later, we would have run.
The years kept sailing by, we continued to grow up and move into adulthood. With my eldest sister married with two small children, my other sister in college a short distance away, and my brother living abroad after enlisting in the military...I was the only one living at home with my parents. Things went from bad to worse, with my dad becoming more controlling than ever before. My mother couldn't even go to the grocery store without him following her in his car to yell that it wasn't safe for her to go alone. And even worse yet....the lectures began. He began giving long lectures to my mom every night that just went on and on, mainly to tell her that God would never hear her prayers until she submitted to his authority. Authority to what? Everything. To rule and to control.
I found that if I walked in the middle of these lectures, he would stop talking and leave the room because he didn't want anyone to know what he was saying. So that's what I did every night. Praying and praying that God would save us from this situation...I'd wait until my mom would go to bed and then I'd go down to my room, only to find he was sitting in the dark waiting for me so he could question what I had talked to my mom about. This went on for a while, so much turmoil....so awful. We knew that God would save us somehow, so we kept praying and waiting for Him to show us what to do. What can you do, other than that? Leave? Yes, but we didn't have enough money to get very far. Call the police? And tell them what, that my dad was freaking us out? Tell our church or friends? Most people in there would've only told us to seek counseling and dig deeper, or not have known what to do. There was nothing. We'd thought of it, really. But there was nothing.
On December 13, 2002...there was the breaking point. It was late that night and I had already left my mom to go to bed, but I had this nightmare that really prevented me from being in a deep sleep. I dreamt that my dad was trying to kill me with a gun. I heard a loud thunder coming from upstairs and sat up as I heard someone running loud down the stairs to my room, right before it sounded like someone was going to rip the door off the hinges to get in. My first thought was, "Oh my gosh, this is it...He's going to kill me." But then when the door was unlocked and opened, I heard my mom scream at me to turn on the light while she locked my door back up. I held her for a little while and listened to her tell me how my dad had put a gun to her head and told her it was Friday the 13th, her day to die. He'd planned 6 different ways of doing it to make it look like an accident. She was trying to scream to me for help up there, but their room was over the garage, and I didn't hear anything from my room. He told her that if she didn't stop screaming, he was only planning on killing her & himself, but he would come down and kill me to.
The only way she got out of there was because of God. When she said the name of Jesus, he went crazy and told her Jesus couldn't help her...but Jesus did help her. It was in that Name, that she ordered my dad to let her go. He barely did, but had no intention of doing so. When my mom saw him step away from the bedroom door, she fled. She came down to my room and we called for help. I listened at my door to see if he was coming down while my mom was on the phone to my sister & brother-in-law, who just happened to be 2 minutes away with their neighbors. Ofcourse, they didn't just happen to be that close. God was working. I could hear my dad's voice coming from somewhere on the other side of that thin door to where we were trembling so bad, we couldn't hardly think straight. I thought I heard him singing. Tell me that's not even more terrifying. He was very calm the entire time he had spoken to my mom, so calm...
That night was so horrible, I can't even begin to describe everything.....hiding in a hotel until the police could find my dad after he took off. Being so sick from nerves and shock, that I couldn't hold anything down for a couple days...being disowned by my father's family because we had allowed outsiders (police) to help us when it should have been kept in the family. The harassment from that was heart wrenching...having your own family break into your house to steal your things because you don't make as much money as he does, therefore, everything must belong to him. But God knew what was happening and He was always 10 steps ahead. He provided for us to sell the house and we gave all that we had away, so when it was broken into, there wasn't much left but a few miscallaneous items.
My mother's family has been loving to us, welcoming us into their homes and blessing us. So we're a bit homeless, but how blessed are we? We're free. We don't want anything from them, just to be left alone. And now I'm in a different state altogether, writing about it when it feels like it was so recent....but it's been 5 years. Takes a while to heal from that, but we are:)
So that is how I came about being somewhat of a gypsy...and hopefully somewhat wiser. I keep finding out how people can just let you down, but yet God never does. I'm living proof that He's real. How? I'm alive. And I'm free.
But this isn't the end of my story........I'm just getting started, so hold on. Here we go..
The older that we got, the more apparent it became that my dad was not going to be the kind of dad you assume you should have. When we were very young, he was too busy with sports to spend much time with us, which turned out to be a blessing now that we look back...because he was an angry man. We grew closer to my mom but more distant from my dad, especially through the teen years. Those years seemed to escalate the angry fits we heard, as we became more vocal in disagreeing with him. We went to church every Sunday and were always very involved, including my dad, who would usually become a leader in a Men's Ministry or Sunday School Teaching. But then we would go home and see him change from the nice & friendly church goer, to the short tempered man that created tension. We knew it was wrong, we knew he shouldn't be that way...living with different faces. But what could we do about it? Just get more frustrated I guess.
The alarming traits in this man were not just anger and hatefulness, but also scheming and manipulation. It was scary actually. To find out more and more just from watching someone that they would plan what to say to someone and how long to say it until they knew they would eventually get the reaction they wanted. If we had known then what would happen later, we would have run.
The years kept sailing by, we continued to grow up and move into adulthood. With my eldest sister married with two small children, my other sister in college a short distance away, and my brother living abroad after enlisting in the military...I was the only one living at home with my parents. Things went from bad to worse, with my dad becoming more controlling than ever before. My mother couldn't even go to the grocery store without him following her in his car to yell that it wasn't safe for her to go alone. And even worse yet....the lectures began. He began giving long lectures to my mom every night that just went on and on, mainly to tell her that God would never hear her prayers until she submitted to his authority. Authority to what? Everything. To rule and to control.
I found that if I walked in the middle of these lectures, he would stop talking and leave the room because he didn't want anyone to know what he was saying. So that's what I did every night. Praying and praying that God would save us from this situation...I'd wait until my mom would go to bed and then I'd go down to my room, only to find he was sitting in the dark waiting for me so he could question what I had talked to my mom about. This went on for a while, so much turmoil....so awful. We knew that God would save us somehow, so we kept praying and waiting for Him to show us what to do. What can you do, other than that? Leave? Yes, but we didn't have enough money to get very far. Call the police? And tell them what, that my dad was freaking us out? Tell our church or friends? Most people in there would've only told us to seek counseling and dig deeper, or not have known what to do. There was nothing. We'd thought of it, really. But there was nothing.
On December 13, 2002...there was the breaking point. It was late that night and I had already left my mom to go to bed, but I had this nightmare that really prevented me from being in a deep sleep. I dreamt that my dad was trying to kill me with a gun. I heard a loud thunder coming from upstairs and sat up as I heard someone running loud down the stairs to my room, right before it sounded like someone was going to rip the door off the hinges to get in. My first thought was, "Oh my gosh, this is it...He's going to kill me." But then when the door was unlocked and opened, I heard my mom scream at me to turn on the light while she locked my door back up. I held her for a little while and listened to her tell me how my dad had put a gun to her head and told her it was Friday the 13th, her day to die. He'd planned 6 different ways of doing it to make it look like an accident. She was trying to scream to me for help up there, but their room was over the garage, and I didn't hear anything from my room. He told her that if she didn't stop screaming, he was only planning on killing her & himself, but he would come down and kill me to.
The only way she got out of there was because of God. When she said the name of Jesus, he went crazy and told her Jesus couldn't help her...but Jesus did help her. It was in that Name, that she ordered my dad to let her go. He barely did, but had no intention of doing so. When my mom saw him step away from the bedroom door, she fled. She came down to my room and we called for help. I listened at my door to see if he was coming down while my mom was on the phone to my sister & brother-in-law, who just happened to be 2 minutes away with their neighbors. Ofcourse, they didn't just happen to be that close. God was working. I could hear my dad's voice coming from somewhere on the other side of that thin door to where we were trembling so bad, we couldn't hardly think straight. I thought I heard him singing. Tell me that's not even more terrifying. He was very calm the entire time he had spoken to my mom, so calm...
That night was so horrible, I can't even begin to describe everything.....hiding in a hotel until the police could find my dad after he took off. Being so sick from nerves and shock, that I couldn't hold anything down for a couple days...being disowned by my father's family because we had allowed outsiders (police) to help us when it should have been kept in the family. The harassment from that was heart wrenching...having your own family break into your house to steal your things because you don't make as much money as he does, therefore, everything must belong to him. But God knew what was happening and He was always 10 steps ahead. He provided for us to sell the house and we gave all that we had away, so when it was broken into, there wasn't much left but a few miscallaneous items.
My mother's family has been loving to us, welcoming us into their homes and blessing us. So we're a bit homeless, but how blessed are we? We're free. We don't want anything from them, just to be left alone. And now I'm in a different state altogether, writing about it when it feels like it was so recent....but it's been 5 years. Takes a while to heal from that, but we are:)
So that is how I came about being somewhat of a gypsy...and hopefully somewhat wiser. I keep finding out how people can just let you down, but yet God never does. I'm living proof that He's real. How? I'm alive. And I'm free.
But this isn't the end of my story........I'm just getting started, so hold on. Here we go..
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Wild Child
If I were a story, I'm positive I would write something completely clever as a beginning to my odd life-tale. Yes, I'm pretty positive that's what I would do. Unfortunately for me, Clever is on vacation and I got stuck with Weird ( a guest that never leaves.) That's alright though, at least it's not Boring. Such a Debbie Downer, that one...
How to begin..well I am a Bekah. A Rebekah formally, a Bekah normally, a Bex occasionally, and a Becky never. I'm a bit of a gypsy right now, without a place to really call home. But one day I will...and that will be a great day. I didn't always used to be this way though, I used to be another resident of the Burbs (insert rolling thunder and lightning strikes.) I like to write, which I do often in music and books, and I hope eventually that someone other than myself will actually enjoy them:] I have a couple of sisters and a brother that I love the majority of the time;) Incredibly hard times and horrible events in our lives could have easily ripped us apart, but I'm thankful God brought us through them and made us stronger for it. But it's been rough. Extremely rough. I guess I'll start with the "back in the day" stuff before moving on to the rough stuff. That's always a good idea I think.
I'm the youngest of the siblings, and as such, I learned how to properly give the 'squinty eyes' from my sisters. The true masters of the art of squinty eyes. Oh yes....there is an art. And I learned how to play army men from my brother, except that usually meant, staying away because girls aren't allowed to play with army men. It's an unwritten rule. We were wild. And that's an understatement....but we weren't 'dumb' wild, it was more like a 'clever' wild. I guess that could be more concerning than a dumb wild, but thankfully we survived. And so did my mother:) Most likely working those Angels overtime..from the sliding down stairs on freakishly large bodypillows that we were convinced would be completely safe, to the nosedives we took off our bunk beds onto the large pile of blankets & pillows. Even though it was a hardwood floor, mind you. But we were alright, until we got in trouble. That could be painful....but you know, it is kinda funny to remember my mom running to us while screaming, "Stop that! We don't have insurance!" Ofcourse we didn't know what insurance was, but we were fully assured that it was going to be something fun to do before we did it. Insured, assured...close enough to us. But we could have easily been injured seriously, or fatally for that matter. The reason we weren't: God's hand was upon all our lives protecting us inspite of our looniness.
A ten pack of ping pong paddles. How many packs were broken while disciplining out backsides? I just don't know. But we deserved it. And we learned not to be rude and dumb. Though we all have moments of the latter sometimes...:] I'm thankful that my mom cared enough to say no to us and to whoop the stupid out of us. It's a neccessary thing in life you know.
Seeing as to how this is only a beginning to all the things that swirl in my head and may eventually be written down here, I think it might be a good time for me depart. It's always a good idea to pace yourself in this sort of thing. Too much information at once could only cause shock..
How to begin..well I am a Bekah. A Rebekah formally, a Bekah normally, a Bex occasionally, and a Becky never. I'm a bit of a gypsy right now, without a place to really call home. But one day I will...and that will be a great day. I didn't always used to be this way though, I used to be another resident of the Burbs (insert rolling thunder and lightning strikes.) I like to write, which I do often in music and books, and I hope eventually that someone other than myself will actually enjoy them:] I have a couple of sisters and a brother that I love the majority of the time;) Incredibly hard times and horrible events in our lives could have easily ripped us apart, but I'm thankful God brought us through them and made us stronger for it. But it's been rough. Extremely rough. I guess I'll start with the "back in the day" stuff before moving on to the rough stuff. That's always a good idea I think.
I'm the youngest of the siblings, and as such, I learned how to properly give the 'squinty eyes' from my sisters. The true masters of the art of squinty eyes. Oh yes....there is an art. And I learned how to play army men from my brother, except that usually meant, staying away because girls aren't allowed to play with army men. It's an unwritten rule. We were wild. And that's an understatement....but we weren't 'dumb' wild, it was more like a 'clever' wild. I guess that could be more concerning than a dumb wild, but thankfully we survived. And so did my mother:) Most likely working those Angels overtime..from the sliding down stairs on freakishly large bodypillows that we were convinced would be completely safe, to the nosedives we took off our bunk beds onto the large pile of blankets & pillows. Even though it was a hardwood floor, mind you. But we were alright, until we got in trouble. That could be painful....but you know, it is kinda funny to remember my mom running to us while screaming, "Stop that! We don't have insurance!" Ofcourse we didn't know what insurance was, but we were fully assured that it was going to be something fun to do before we did it. Insured, assured...close enough to us. But we could have easily been injured seriously, or fatally for that matter. The reason we weren't: God's hand was upon all our lives protecting us inspite of our looniness.
A ten pack of ping pong paddles. How many packs were broken while disciplining out backsides? I just don't know. But we deserved it. And we learned not to be rude and dumb. Though we all have moments of the latter sometimes...:] I'm thankful that my mom cared enough to say no to us and to whoop the stupid out of us. It's a neccessary thing in life you know.
Seeing as to how this is only a beginning to all the things that swirl in my head and may eventually be written down here, I think it might be a good time for me depart. It's always a good idea to pace yourself in this sort of thing. Too much information at once could only cause shock..
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