Two Quick Quotes from Camp July 31, 2008
Posted by Anya in : I won't keep things purposely vague , add a commentBoth of these quotes shed a little light on why I love the people at camp so much.
#1. Caleb had a headache. One of the other kids was saying that if he had a headache, he would get out of coming to missions class.
Caleb: “I’d rather have a headache and be here than not have a headache and not be here.”
#2. This one guy — Charles C — is pretty much perpetually cheery. And thoughtful. He never seems to run out of questions. He was walking around on Thursday with a huge grin and his face and Mom asked him how he was doing.
Charles said, enthusiastically, “I’m doing GREAT!!!!”
Mom: “What are your top three reasons?”
Charlie: “Well… number one, God is good! And number too, I’m at camp! And number three… our skit rocks!!”
I want that to be my answer as well… for the rest of my life… no matter what else is going on… that the number one reason influencing how I think I’m doing is the goodness of God.
If God is for us, who can be against us?
The Word of God July 29, 2008
Posted by Anya in : I won't keep things purposely vague , 1 comment so farGod is good. I was looking at Agent Tim’s blog on Sunday and found this post. Ouch.
Unfortunately I can’t look at Tim and say My gracious, what an ungrateful guy. That is, I guess that I could, but it would not be a very astute thing to do since I take a lot more than clothes for granted. And not just for granted, but I think of them as a duty… as a nuisance, at time. Andrew C said it as well as I could ever hope to.
…It bothers me that I struggle to read my Bible on a daily basis, when there are those who would give their right arm for even a page of this, God’s Holy Word…
My ingratitude flies in my face, accusing me, condemning me with charges I cannot answer to, charges of not living as the Son of the Kingdom that I am. My head is in the right place, but my heart drifts, viewing life through a skewed and twisted telescope, filling my life with trivial things that don’t actually matter. It’s time to grow up, to move on, to shove off all these damned things within myself that are pulling me down, holding me back, keeping me away from God. I want to hunger for Him, I want to live for Him, give myself to Him, but in all this I am my own worst enemy.
[Andrew C, on this post, which I know that I’ve quoted quite a few times.]
The Bible is an amazing book. Really. When I actually take the time to think about what I am doing, I’m overwhelmed when I pick it up. I am holding God’s Word. In my own hands. These pieces of paper, with little black marks on them, convey to me what the God Who created me says.
That is something that I don’t deserve. How many people have done (and still do) crazy things to try to hear from God? Whether it’s people getting high on drugs or getting involved in fortune telling, or ancient peoples offering other humans — even their own children — as sacrifices to try to please the gods, or the Baal worshippers dancing around and cutting themselves in hopes of hearing from their god, their practices have always been more than ineffectual; they’ve been harmful.
And then there’s me.
I was working on a song three months ago when I was re-reading The Great Divorce (and, I think, some of Eliot’s poetry) and wrote,
I begin to get the impression
That you really just don’t understand
This one journey you may find
That you are called to leave behind
Your right eye, your right hand
And have we ever sacrificed anything?
And what have we ever given?
If I literally had to give my hand or eye to get God’s Word, the price would not merit the reward. But I haven’t been called to do even taht. What have I ever given — to deserve God’s Word?
Nothing.
Instead of me doing anything to earn the privilege of having God’s Word constantly accessible, it was given to me. Other people died so that I could have it, and have it in English, but it was given to me.
So it stuns me when I realize that I am taking it for granted.
The Bible has to look like a pretty foolish thing in the eyes of the world.
Looking out from His throne
The Father of light and of men
Chose to make Himself known
And show us the way back to Him
Speaking wisdom and truth
Into the hearts of peasants and kings
He began to unveil
The Word that would change the course of all things
With eyes wide open all would see
The Word is alive
And it cuts like a sword through the darkness
With a message of life to the hopeless and afraid
Breathing life into all who believe
The Word is alive
And the world and its glories will fade
But His truth it will not pass away
It remains yesterday and forever the same
The Word is alive
Simple strokes on a page
Eternity’s secrets revealed
Carried on from age to age
It speaks truth to us even still
As the rain falls from heaven
Feeds the earth before it returns
Lord, let your Word fall on us
And bring forth the fruit You deserve
With eyes wide open let us see
The Word is alive
And it cuts like a sword through the darkness
With a message of life to the hopeless and afraid
Breathing life into all who believe
The Word is alive
And the world and its glories will fade
But His truth it will not pass away
It remains yesterday and forever the same
The Word is alive
The Bible was inscribed over a period of 2000 years
In times of war and in days of peace
By kings, physicians, tax collectors, farmers, fishermen, singers and shepherds
The marvel is that a library so perfectly cohesive
Could have been produced by such a diverse crowd
Over a period of time which staggers the imagination
Jesus is its grand subject our good is its design and the glory of God is its end
The Word is alive
And it cuts like a sword through the darkness
With a message of life to the hopeless and afraid
Breathing life into all who believe
[Casting Crowns, The Word is Alive]
But when I was writing this post, I wasn’t listening to Casting Crowns. I was listening to Jars of Clay, which has some fantastic stuff. And so I began thinking about the Bible in relation to Jars of Clay’s verse — II Corinthians 4:7.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.
By an odd coincidence (heavy on the sarcasm, there), that verse is part of one of my favorite passages (II Corinthians 3-4).
Anyway, I had always thought about that verse before as referring to God living in us. We are “jars of clay”, made from the dust.
But it really applies to the Bible too. It’s God’s Word, delivered to us in a way which seems very frail. Especially if you think about things like the library at Alexandria, and how easily books can be totally destroyed and lost forever. And, in another one of those odd little “coincidences”, the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in clay jars.
So today, I will not take what I have in the Bible for granted. At least, not as much. Another piece of the grace of God, breaking in to overwhelm my heart.
A Bit More… July 27, 2008
Posted by Anya in : spontaneous degeneration , 3commentsI don’t quite know where to start.
Last night I gave you a link to Peter’s post; today I’ll link you to the Rebelution’s post about the conference. It’s short.
The material from the conference is something that you’ll find if you read the blog, join the forums, and read Do Hard Things. It’s a simple message (our standard is to be holy as God is holy, our mission is to do our utmost for His glory), but it was good to hear it another way. A very memorable way. It’s easy for me to take the blog and even the forums for granted. But this conference kind of exploded in your face. Which was a good thing.
As Peter said, meeting other people from the forums was incredible. It was, frankly, a bit awkward. But it was so much fun, especially after getting past some of the initial awkwardness and just being able to talk, realizing that we did know each other, actually!
And it was cool to get to actually meet Alex and Brett, and Josh (and James and Isaac and Joel). And David K, and Agent Tim (even if it took a LOT of pressure to get him to sign my autograph book). And… um… oh yes! Josh! From youth group! I had no clue that he was going. He shrugged.
Reb in Short July 26, 2008
Posted by Anya in : spontaneous degeneration, I won't keep things purposely vague , 1 comment so farToday was the Reb conference.
I have 25 pages of notes. Seriously.
And I’m tired.
And that’s all I have to say right now. If you want to know a bit more, go read The Real Tangent. He did a good job summing it up.
Goodnight. 
More Quotes from Camp July 21, 2008
Posted by Anya in : spontaneous degeneration, smiling is good for you , 3commentsThe girls in our cabin gave each other code names.
Abby: “Purple, are you there?”
…at another point:
Abby: “Purple? Purple! HEY! PURPLE! LAUREN!!!!”
Kinda like the “code names” on Raising Arizona. “Y’all hear that? We’re usin’ CODE NAMES!”
~~~
Katelyn: “Say Twizzler!”
Benjamin: “I can but I won’t.”
Katelyn: “If you say Twizzler, you can play.”
Christian: “Twizzler.”
Katelyn: “Louder.”
Christian: “Twizzler.”
Katelyn: “LOUDER!”
Christian: “No. Oh, alright. TWIZZLER!!!”
*he and Benjamin play Connect Four*
Benjamin, by the way, explained this to me in case I hadn’t caught the significance. “They think it’s hilarious, because they say Twizzler and we say Twizzlah.“
Yep.
~~~
Anna, after calling Lauren Laurel. “It sounds like a super-hero — Super-Laurel!”
~~~
Charles C, giving another long and detailed answer: “…and–”
Jonathan: “Yes! Okay! Stop there!”
*laughter and more laughter*
~~~
Jonathan: “What’s someone who’s more than a conqueror?”
someone: “Vikings!”
~~~
Ben M, upon inspecting me in the morning: “That’s a new shirt!”
me: “Did you really think that I only brought one shirt??”
Ben: “I knew that you brought at least two…”
me: “…That was the diplomatic answer.”
~~~
Pastor O: “Do you know what cabin you’re in?”
Ben M: “Yes sir.”
Pastor O: “Do you know who your counselor is?”
Ben: “Yes sir.”
me: “Do you know what your name is?”
Ben: “Yes si– ma’am — *laughs*”
Later on…
Ben M: *with indignant amusement* “I called her MA’AM!”
~~~
Jonathan: “When you point at someone, how many fingers are pointing back at you?”
someone: “Four.”
Jonathan: *clears throat* “I guess it depends how you hold your fingers.”
~~~
“These hills are too slippery for sneaking around.” ~ Zach, after sliding down part of one and more or less crashing into a tree while he was trying to sneak up on me.
“If you ever watch the Transformers movie, don’t.” ~ Ben M.
“I am Barack Obama, and I approve what I just said.” ~ Chucky, doing an ad during their hilarious skit.
“I’m gonna, too!” ~ Jacob F’s answer when I proposed his doing various things, from remembering my name next year to becoming a surgeon.
“Yeah, totally.” ~ Evan’s auto-reply, once he had decided that it was more or less safe to talk to me.
“Oh… I just lost my brain.” ~ Jonathan
~~~
For a bit of back story on this next one, the guys’ on our team’s skit was a CSI show, and Jacob was the surgeon. He was not the type of surgeon you’d like to have. He was more the type that you’d like to run from, screaming.
Anyway, Evan and Jacob and I were talking about it afterwards, and I was teasing Jacob about becoming a surgeon.
Jacob: “I’m gonna, too!”
Evan: “You’d be a perfect surgeon. You look like one now. Just don’t change at all. Leave everything the way it is. Don’t gain weight, don’t lose weight, don’t change your body shape, don’t do anything to your face. Don’t smile, don’t frown; it could give you wrinkles. Drink lots of coffee so that you don’t grow any.”
me: “No! Don’t drink lots of coffee! It will mess up your brain!”
Jacob: “What are you saying? Huh? What? Are you saying that my brain isn’t already messed up? Huh?” *grins* “Just kidding!”
me: “Oh okay. Drinking too much coffee will destroy the few remaining brain cells that Jacob has left.”
Jacob: “Thanks!”
It’s hard to please some people.
Camp I July 20, 2008
Posted by Anya in : spontaneous degeneration, smiling is good for you, I won't keep things purposely vague , 6commentsI started working on a post about camp last night, but I don’t think I’ll put it up. There is too much stuff to really post about it and give you any feeling that it was the whole story. Also, a lot of it won’t make sense unless you know a lot of the kids and are familiar with how the camp works.
Still, it was an amazing year and I want to tell you about it. So, in my trusty blue notebook, I made a list of the Really Incredible Things, the things that I’ll remember for a long time. Some are funny, some are serious, and it is not at all exhaustive. But here goes.
~Wednesday night with Gareth, Ben M, and Benjamin.
The popular game this year (as opposed to Dirt or Gaga) was Connect Four. One of the two little boys, who had just moved from England three weeks ago, was pretty much the Connect Four champ. That was Benjamin, aka H-Man. He’s eight. Wednesday night I played him (we each won one game), played Gareth, played Ben M, and then we stood around talking. Benjamin ate at least six brownies and two cartons of orange juice. His H-Man nickname was earned; he was quite hyper. But he had a wonderful accent. So Gareth and I (after, say, brownie no. 4) decided that he had had enough and I chased him into the dining hall to prevent further brownie consumption. It was unsuccessful but utterly hilarious. We just did a lot of talking and laughing that night. Benjamin cracked me up too (see, it was Wednesday; by that point we were laughing at anything) by completely re-setting up our game after Zach J pulled the bottom out of it.
~Thursday night was incredible too, and not because it was skit night. That is, the skits were amazing and some of them were hilarious, but that wasn’t the incredible part. This is going to take some backstory to explain, but it’s worth it.
The theme of camp this year was “Life in Christ” and it was astonishing how God drove that point home. Maybe I should have guessed that this year was going to be intense in ways that no other years were when Jessica died right before camp. Jessica had been our nurse at camp for several weeks; her dad is a pastor, and her brother was one of our speakers for the week. We knew that she was going to die (terminal cancer) but the timing was shaking. Her brother spoke anyway. His subject was Don’t Waste Your Life (yes, based largely on the book of the same title by John Piper). So there was that, and it was… I hesitate to say a shadow over camp, because it wasn’t really, but it was different. It pushed us to think about things a bit.
Thursday night made us think about what we were being taught much more. One of the guys who worked at the camp itself (not an OPC guy) had been found by Pastor O that afternoon sobbing his heart out. His step-dad had been killed that afternoon in a freak accident and the guy told us that they had never really talked about serious things at all, they had always been too busy having fun.
We prayed for him and went on up to dinner, thinking that he had gone home.
But he hadn’t gone home yet, and he was sitting on the deck crying.
A bunch of campers ended up sitting with him, praying for him, crying with him, but mostly just being there and being quiet with him.
Then after dinner, some campers made a card for him and got everyone to sign it.
He was blown away by the fact that these people, who were pretty much strangers to him, would care for him.
So he came and talked to us all a little more; talked to some of the pastors, and ended up getting hugged by everyone in camp.
That was amazing. Very hard, but definitely amazing.
~Tongue twisters in the craft hut with Zach, Jocelyn, Katie, and Evan.
We laughed so hard. Enough said. You had to be there, I think.
~Singing with the Juniors.
I got to teach them songs and motions, and that was a blast. Well, most of the time. Seriously though, it was a highlight of my week… I had such a great time with most of them and they learned a lot of verses.
~Singing with Julianne.
The last night I was in the shower house and started singing with It started out as a feeling and then I heard someone else singing which then grew into a hope so I shot back which then turned into a quiet thought and heard which then grew into a quiet word and then we sang together and then that word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry… I’ll come back when you call me; no need to say goodbye. Then I saw that it was Julianne, who was in my cabin anyway. It was a very good song for at the ending of camp, and it sounded lovely.
~Food fight on Friday night with Nathaniel and Evan.
It wasn’t much of a food fight, but the three of us had a grand time. I think Evan had his dinner spoiled the most, and they really didn’t do a thing to mine. Actually, the only thing which we really ruined was about two cups of kool-aid. It was so much fun. I think it all started with a dish of applesauce too…
~Singing with Ken M on Saturday morning.
He had done our music all week and yesterday morning he was sitting out on the porch playing guitar. I wandered over and we ended up singing Jars of Clay’s Flood and a Third Day song and DC Talk’s In the Light.
~Working on a relationship with one of the junior guys. It was incredible to see how God works in situations which I think are impossible, and lets me become friends with someone who I think will completely shut me out.
And now for some quotes. *evil grin*
*telling Evan (a first time 16 year old camper) about the year when I was Zach’s slave, i.e., he made me help him in the craft hut with all sorts of stuff*
Evan: O_o “You ARE brother and sister, right?”
me: “No. But everyone always thinks so.”
Evan: O_O “You’re not???”
~~~
Zach: “If you had really been my slave, I would have killed you.”
~~~
Jonathan (after garbling some quote): “Let me read that again, for my English speaking friends…”
~~~
Abby B (about an albino something or another): “He was like a living snowflake with eyes!”
~~~
Abby B: “No! You can’t have my hanger! I like it!”
Caitlin: “I thought you hated it!”
Abby B: “SHH!!!… I’m having mood swings.”
~~~
*Abby’s turn*
*long pause*
Abby: “Oh, my turn? My name is… um…”
me: “Are you SURE you don’t have amnesia?” (I had been teasing her about that all evening.)
Abby: “I do NOT! Um… I forget what church I go to…”
~~~
*practicing memory verses*
Rachel: “Faith in… Jesus Christ?”
Anna: “Who do you think?”
…
Rachel: “For to me to live is… to die?”
*laughter*
~~~
Jonathan (talking about the fiery furnace): “What did the king make?”
someone: “Chocolate bunnies!”
~~~
Benjamin (on losing Connect Four): “Oh bug. Oh bugger.”
Of course, with the accent it came out more like “Oh bug. Oh buggah.”
It was much quoted at camp. I like it.
~~~
And that was a tiny bit of it, but that all I have time for tonight.
Goodnight.
Short Post on Names July 12, 2008
Posted by Anya in : spontaneous degeneration , 3commentsNames are interesting things. I was listening to the song I Will Change Your Name by D.J. Butler today and thinking about this.
I will change your name
You shall no longer be called
Wounded, outcast
Lonely or afraid
I will change your name
Your new name shall be
Confidence, joyfulness
Overcoming one
Faithfulness, friend of God
One who seeks My face.
What do you think about names? Do you think that they’re important or not? Do you tend to name things? Or people?
Chapter 3! July 11, 2008
Posted by Anya in : I won't keep things purposely vague , 1 comment so farIn just a moment, here is chapter 3 for your enjoyment. And critiquing. Or something like that. First of all, a few notable mentions.
#1. We’ve been painting. The upstairs is looking a lot better. We didn’t even take before pictures.
#2. I really like mi verbs. They make a lot more sense to me than regular Greek verbs.
#3. I was playing Mafia tonight. Peter happens to poke quite hard. *muscles in back twinge* He complained the other day that I haven’t mentioned him in a post in a long time, and now I’ve done so. (I do have the feeling that this wasn’t quite the sort of mention that he had in mind… but… *evil grin*) Fortunately, I healed the right person when I was the doctor.
Aubrey, by the way, is a real villain at Mafia. She walks around poking random people, thus confusing everyone. We eventually banished her, and then she hung around watching and telling everyone to wake up before it was time.
Quotes from Mafia:
Aubrey: “Everyone… WAKE UP!”
Peter: “Everyone do NOT wake up!”
Aubrey: “Everyone… WAKE UP!”
all of us: “Everyone, do NOT wake up!”
Aubrey: “Everyone…”
me: “Everyone, ignore Aubrey!”
“Good morning, Mafia!”
#4. Samwise now has me addicted to the song Look After You by The Fray. Please understand that we are not enamoured of the lyrics, but of the music. The lyrics are not as good as the music, and we are disappointed in them. But the music catches something. I think that he said he knew I’d get addicted to it.
And now for the story. In case you’ve missed it, here is
Chapter Three
“I have another question,” began Andrew. He pointed to the boy from the grocery store. “Why is he here? Peter didn’t seem to even know that he existed, and that kid is only watching me. He — I don’t even know his name — doesn’t seem to know that you exist.”
“His name is William; he doesn’t know that I exist, nor does Peter know that he exists,” said the prince gravely, answering Andrew’s implied questions all out of order. “Nor did you know of my existence until quite recently.”
“Yes, that’s another thing that I don’t really understand,” Andrew said. “It seemed that I had never seen you before, although I’m positive I had looked back there. Why didn’t Peter notice William?”
The prince stood up. “Peter doesn’t shop at the same grocery store as you do.”
“Erm…” said Andrew, uncertain in how this was an answer to his question.
“He couldn’t see him because he doesn’t know him,” said the prince.
“Oh, I was just surprised, that’s all,” said Andrew. “Usually if Peter sees anyone alone, he goes over and introduces himself and…” his voice trailed off. “Did you say that Peter couldn’t see him?”
“Yes.”
Andrew looked at the prince. He had the feeling that there was something going on which he was supposed to do. The prince smiled at him and put his arm around his shoulders. “I know that you still have many questions. Take them to your brother Peter. He can answer many of them, and he will introduce you to people who can answer many more.”
“Am I to leave, then?” asked Andrew. They were standing in the doorway, and the prince had his hand on the handle. He shook his head.
“You’re not leaving, Andrew. You are going out of the courtroom, but you will not be out of my kingdom. You’re only passing from one part of it to another.”
Now Andrew stood at the top of the steps, looking into the courtroom. “Will I see you again?”
“Of course,” said the prince warmly. “You can see me often. I am never too busy for any of my subjects.”
Still Andrew hesitated. “Why are you sending me away? I still have so much to learn…”
The prince smiled. “I am sending you to learn. Go on, Andrew.”
Andrew turned and walked down the stairs and up the street. His head was reeling as he tried to take in all that had happened that day. He had not expected to ever walk these streets again, yet here he was, out of prison, and strolling about in the late afternoon sunlight. He looked up and saw that he was almost home. But who was that, walking restlessly back and forth in front of the open gate, hands deep in his pockets and head down in contemplation?
“Hullo, Peter,” exclaimed Andrew, drawing a bit closer. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Startled, Peter jerked his head up and his hands out of his pockets. “Oh, Andrew, it’s you. I thought I might find you here.”
“I just left the courtroom,” said Andrew. “I didn’t know that you even knew where I lived; I haven’t seen you in this part of town for years. Well, since you’re here, won’t you come in for dinner? I think that we have a lot to talk about…”
Peter shook his head. “I’d like to have dinner with you, though — why don’t you come to my apartment?”
“Are you sure that you’re alright?” asked Andrew with some concern, looking more closely at Peter. “You look awful. Maybe you should come in and lay down for a bit.”
More violently, Peter shook his head again. “I’ll be feeling much better once we’re away from this house.” His fingers tightened around the hilt of a sword which he wore at his side.
“All right,” laughed Andrew, still a bit uneasy about what to do with Peter. “I didn’t know that you had taken up fencing, Pete. It must be making a comeback — seems that I’m seeing more and more people wearing swords, even around town. You’ll have to tell me about it. Let me just run in real quick and grab a few things I want and then I’ll be right with you, okay?”
“No,” said Peter, urgently. He reached out and grabbed Andrew’s wrist. “Please, Drew, you can’t go back in.” He was labouring for breath now. “We have got to get out of here.”
Realizing that appeals to the logic of the situation would get him nowhere, Andrew gave in and acquiesced. “Okay, Pete. Then let’s go.” With a backward glance at his house and a shrug, he led the way back down the street towards the apartment where Peter lived.
After a few minutes of walking, Peter was looking much better. He was a bit paler than normal, but Andrew put it down to the stress of the day. With another sideways glance at his brother to reassure himself that Peter was no longer in imminent danger of passing out or anything similar, Andrew decided to broach the (rather safe, he thought) subject of dinner. “Pete, if you aren’t feeling well, are you sure that you want to walk the whole way back to your apartment for dinner? Wouldn’t it be better to stop somewhere along the way?”
“Oh no,” said Peter easily. “I’m fine now. Why, do you not want to eat at my apartment? It may be a bit of a mess, but I didn’t think it was THAT bad,” he said, half-joking as he caught sight of his brother’s face.
Andrew wrinkled his nose. “Peter, you’ve got to be kidding me. When I was there last winter, I thought I was gonna die! It smelled awful… I’m surprised that you weren’t sick a lot more then you were.”
“I never noticed anything like that,” said Peter. “What did it smell like?”
“Mostly like rotting corpses,” Andrew replied immediately. “A bit like fire and gunpowder and blood, but mostly like long-dead bodies. A charnel-house.”
Peter gave him an odd look but said nothing.
“I am astonished that you ever managed to get well, living in there,” repeated Andrew. “I would die there.”
“Well,” said Peter finally. “I really do think that you’d better come back there for dinner. Everyone is awfully eager to meet you.”
“To meet me?” asked Andrew. He almost stumbled over an uneven place in the sidewalk in his surprise. “Why? I don’t even know them!”
Peter’s face lit up with a sudden smile. “No, but they’ve been waiting to meet you. They have been following your case with a good deal of interest — if it weren’t for them, I’m not sure you’d be out here walking around now.” He turned up a side street.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“They petitioned the judge and the prince for your pardon, your life. Sometimes it was on nights when I was too tired to do so myself. Some nights I would return late from the palace and find that someone had left a note on my door to come have dinner in their apartment — and they’d stay up until whatever time I got back, ready with dinner and to talk for a while if I wanted. Sometimes they left bread in my kitchen or flowers on my table. I… I really could not have done it without their help.”
Andrew could see the apartment building now, and although he felt queasy at the remembrance of its smell, he was also filled with curiosity. “Peter, aren’t you exaggerating things — just a bit? They petitioned the judge and the prince? I’ve met your neighbors… they may be decent enough, but they’re not well-educated, they’re not all that young, and they certainly aren’t very attractive.”
Peter grinned, not offended. “Just so — you’ve met them, but you don’ t know them at all.”
Andrew shrugged and laughed good-naturedly. “All right, all right, I’ll come. But I think your neighbors just about live up to the building they live in.” He pressed a hand against the wall and looked up at it doubtfully. “Are you sure that it won’t fall over? Is it safe to go in?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” said Peter with a laugh.
Andrew still looked apprehensive. “It looks like it will all tumble down if so much as a fox climbed up on it… let alone the two of us.”
Peter gave him another strange look. “Really, you don’t have anything to worry about. It’s been here for hundreds of years, and I’ve never heard of this architect making mistakes.”
“Of course not,” muttered Andrew to himself. “Everyone was killed when the other buildings collapsed on them. ‘Hundreds of years’ — oh, that’s reassuring .”
But Peter had run up the stairs and was waiting for him with the door open. So Andrew took a deep breath, steeled himself against the stench, and walked in.
Finis Chapter Three
Chapter 2 of the new story July 10, 2008
Posted by Anya in : I won't keep things purposely vague , 1 comment so far(Suggestions for a title, anyone? I have one idea, but I’m quite open to more. And suggestions in general.)
Chapter 2
Andrew felt as if every nerve in his body was straining to hear the next word which the prince would say, although he already knew what it would be.
“This man,” said the prince, still looking at Andrew with something very like compassion, “is not guilty.”
There was a moment of absolute silence in the court. Andrew did not at all understand what had just happened. Was it possible that the prince was mocking him?
Damian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the prince with undisguised loathing. “You cheated. He is guilty. He is guilty. He is guilty!” His voice rose in a frantic crescendo of hatred.
It was to Andrew that the prince addressed his explanation, his voice solemn to match the gravity of the silent question in Andrew’s puzzled eyes. “You committed all of these heinous crimes, I know,” he began. “But the guilt is not yours.”
Andrew was too perplexed to make any answer, so he continued staring dumbly at the prince.
The prince smiled again, but he was still serious. “You are not guilty because your guilt was taken by someone else, and he already fully paid your punishment.”
“B-but my lord, my punishment is death,” said Andrew weakly. His eyes were riveted to the prince and thus he could not see Peter. Peter had remained in the court the entire time, shrinking back as if from a blow as each person stated their accusations against his brother. He could not disagree with them, but his eyes never wavered from the face of the judge until the prince came forward. Then a light of hope crept into Peter’s eyes. He face was filled with a struggle and a plea to the prince, and the prince had met his eyes and smiled. Damian noted this bitterly; as soon as the prince lifted his eyes from the wretched Andrew to Peter and given him a smile full of confident understanding, the tension seeped out of Peter and he had relaxed, patiently waiting for the verdict.
“The punishment for your crimes was death,” the prince stated, in agreement with Andrew. “But, as I said, it has been paid.”
Andrew dared to take a breath as he continued to look at the prince. He did not seem to notice the revulsion and antipathy directed at him in Damian’s glare. “M-May I ask who has… paid for me?”
“You may,” said the prince. Damian cringed as if he could not bear to hear the answer. “I paid for you.”
Andrew looked more confused than ever.
“Do I have your permission to leave?” asked Damian sulkily. “I think that I know how this is going to end, and I have other business to be about.”
“Yes, you may go,” said the prince with a dismissive wave of his fingers. “You know the laws which you must follow.”
Damian hurried out of the court. Andrew, following him with his eyes, noticed that the only people left in the courtroom were Peter and the boy from the grocery store. They were sitting in opposite sections, though, and seemed to be completely unaware of each other’s presence.
Peter got out of his seat and moved toward the dias at the center of the chamber. At first he walked slowly, but then he was running, almost flying. Not to his brother, but to the prince. His face was wet with tears.
“Thank you, my lord,” Andrew overhead him say. Then the prince and his brother spoke together for another minute, the prince resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Andrew wondered at the fact that they seemed to be friends. It appeared that his brother had many more — and more powerful — friends than he had realized. Finally Peter nodded at the prince and walked thoughtfully to the door. He hesitated in the doorway for only a second, looking back at the prince and his brother as if to impress the moment on his memory, then moved outside.
The prince smiled at Andrew. “Your brother has worked hard on your behalf,” he said. “He spent many hours petitioning for you. He would spend all night sometimes talking to me about you.”
Tears filled Andrew’s eyes. “I never knew that,” he whispered. “Why should he have done that? I hurt him in every conceivable way.”
“I know,” said the prince.
“You do?” asked Andrew, with a momentary flash of anger at the thought that Peter had complained about his private affairs to this man, who, after all, Andrew had never met before today. But then he remembered that thousands of his crimes had been listed in court that day, for all who cared to hear; and also how he had bragged at one time to all his friends about all the things which he had done to Peter, and he blushed.
The prince looked at him and seemed to know what he was thinking. “Yes, Peter told me about everything.”
“Then…” began Andrew.
“He did not tell me in anger,” said the prince gently. “He told me of it with tears, remembering what had been and could not now be changed. His tears were for what you had been suffering even then, tears washing away his own anger with you.”
“He had every right to be angry,” Andrew admitted.
“At first,” the prince continued, “his own wounds were too deep for us to talk of many other things. I was healing him, and that did not happen overnight. But now he rarely mentions to me the wounds which you cut into him. And when he does, it’s with a half-smile and no anger at all; mostly in gratitude to me for cleansing them and healing him.”
Andrew didn’t remember when the prince had descended from the dais, but at some point, he had, and they were now sitting together at one of the tables which was for material evidence to be set up on. “So what did he talk about with you, then?” he asked curiously.
The prince laughed. “He and I talked about many things. I assume that you mean what else did he have to say about you? Peter told me the good which he remembered of you. He told me about how you took care of him last winter when the plague struck him down.”
Andrew blushed again. “What else could I have done? He is my brother. He would have done the same for me. Many is the night he stayed awake as a boy when I was ill. It was little enough,” he concluded awkwardly, still red-faced.
The prince grinned fondly. “I know. But he remembered it with love and hope. He told me how you paid his rent, too, when he was out of a job.”
Andrew went beyond blushing this time. He turned beet-red to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t think he knew,” he said feebly.
“He told me that, as a child, you made up stories of a kingdom ‘outside’, where there was no slavery.”
“I had forgotten those stories,” said Andrew wistfully.
“He didn’t, though. And Peter told me that several times, when you were younger, you gave him your dinner because you were concerned that he was hungry. Do you remember?”
“No,” said Andrew, sounding surprised. He thought for a moment. “Oh yes. Now I do, vaguely. He was hungry, too; he’d cry at night because he was so hungry. And then get up the next morning with a smile on his lips, ready to work in the fields again. And –” he was warming to his subject, ” — he would do not only his own work, but that of a few others — older women, the girls, little boys, that of the men who sick — making sure that they’d meet their quota. Sometimes he was like to kill himself with such labour in the sun, and still would fall short of meeting all their quotas, and then he would make up the difference from his own. He’d rather fall short himself, than let someone else, and he was severely punished. Of course he was hungry!”
“He never forgot your sacrifices for him,” said the prince. “And he reminded me of them over and over again, sometimes with agony. He did not want you to be lost. Peter has a great love for you — a great love for many people, and with that love comes a deep pain which you cannot yet fully feel.”
“Is love only pain, then?” Andrew asked, with a sigh of resignition.
“No, of course not,” answered the prince patiently. “It also has a far greater joy than you can yet even begin to imagine. Peter has been allowed to feel much of the pain, but he has only tasted the smallest part of the joy. Today he was almost overwhelmed by the new heights of joy to which he soared. It will come. More and more. But for now, the pain is primary — it must be so for a time, so that later he can drink in the joy unrestrainedly and be able to live. You will understand more fully later, and when you do begin to understand, you will also begin to be able to taste the joy. When you fully understand the purpose of the pain, its purpose will be completed, and it shall no longer be needed nor have any place in you.”
“I’d just as much rather understand it all now and skip on ahead,” said Andrew.
The prince could not help laughing. “That is a natural reaction, Andrew. I felt the same way myself.” He saw the look on Andrew’s face and interpreted it correctly. “Aye, I felt the great pain of which I spoke… I drained its cup to the bitter dregs. I know exactly what it is like, how it feels. But the pain will vanish like mist before the unabated joy to come. I promise.”
“I don’t understand,” said Andrew.
“I don’t expect you to,” countered the prince. “But while you do not yet understand, remember what I have said, and believe it. Hang on to my promise — that the joy is far more glorious than the pain is terrible — and you will come to understand.”
Finis Chapter 2
New Story July 7, 2008
Posted by Anya in : I won't keep things purposely vague , 6commentsI started working on a new story yesterday. Chapter One is done, and I thought I’d post it. I’d be interested to know what you think. But feel free to leave me a comment even if you don’t feel like reading the whole thing… I’m always happy to hear from my friends.
Chapter One:
He stood before the judge, face white and eyes filled with an ocean of agony.
“You are guilty,” concluded his accuser, quietly but firmly, with the assurance of one who knows that he is right. Damian looked at the judge as if to remind him of the severity of the offense. The judge returned his gaze levelly. He had not forgotten. He could hardly have forgotten, when it was a murder trial for the death of his own son. His son – his only son, whom he had watched grow from a child to a man. And then he had seen him as he died.
Damian, who was bringing the charge, saw all these thoughts passing through the eyes of the judge. There was no doubt in his mind that the accused was guilty.
The prisoner also knew of his guilt. He was haunted by it and stood in terror of the judge before whom he stood. He knew that if he had been innocent, the judge would have known it. But he was not. He was fully guilty.
Everyone fell silent as they waited for the verdict of the judge. (more…)
