BIG NEWS!

I winced as a shower of rose petals fell from the stem I was holding, leaving it bare and no longer beautiful. Tossing it aside I picked up the next flower. Turning it over gently, I careful twisted the long green wire around the length of its stem--supporting the blossom and insuring the rose a longer life. I was not long into my task when I heard the familiar shuffle of my brother's footsteps in the doorway. The twinkle of a smile danced over my face as I heard him take an opening breath. I was getting pleasantly used to my little brothers' random intrusions. Each day brought a new cause, and I was never sure what problem or proposition they would present me with next. Yesterday, I walked into my room to find 100 pennies scattered all across my desk top. Later, Jono came in and asked me (with an enormous smile) if I had found them. I of course, replied that I had, and asked him what they were for. At this point, he threw himself around my neck, kissed my cheek and shrugged.
"Just 'cause..." was the only answer I received before he danced out of my room.
Point made, I heard Stephen outside my door, and turned to meet the clear blue eyes and freckled face I have come to love. The corner of his lower lip was turned up slightly, so I knew that he was proud or excited about something. Nevertheless, he kept a serious face, and began to speak, using what he believes is his "changed voice." (some kind of forced monotone that he tilts his chin down to accomplish--but feels very manly after doing so.)
"Rebecca?" pause. another breath. "Do you still use your pro-active?" (Acne treatment)
"Ummm...yeeeeeessssss..." I raised my eyebrows in expectation.
"Oh." He turned and began to mess with the things on my desk--waiting for me to ask why he wanted it.
I didn't.
Finally he couldn't bear the silence any longer.
"Mom wanted me to ask you." another pause. "She...well...I guess I have one on my chin."


MY LITTLE BROTHER JUST GOT HIS FIRST ZIT!!!!!!
WHOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!

Where has the time gone?! What happened to that chubby roll of a baby that I used to decorate with dandelions and swing by his toes? It's hard to believe he'll be in Junior High next year. And that I won't be there to cheer him on....sigh! I'm definately sticking around though. If I get this Indiana Wesleyan art scholarship, then I'll go there. I would love being so close! I could come to all of Stephen's games, and the school plays, and keep my brothers out of trouble. I can't wait till they're in highschool and I can just, swing by and take them out for the day. Of course, by then, I won't be cool anymore.

Hmm...changing the subject--I taught Sunday School again, and received the same amount of random amusement as is guaranteed any job involving children. One little girl (the same one who gave me the valentines last week) asked if she could sing a song for the class (in the middle of lesson time!) I eventually allowed her to, and the next 10 minutes were spent listening to all 11 verses/versions of "Peter, James and John in a Sailboat."
When lesson time resumed, I asked this question: Why is it so hard to be kind to our enemies?

Boy #1: (hand politely raised. I am impressed--i call on him) "Miss Rebecca--if you had to pick one of us as your favorite--who would it be?"

So you're thinking--well, for a random comment that's not so bad. And it wasn't. But I was in no way prepared for the next child!

Boy #2: (I'm surprised that he's participating. He usually gives me trouble) "Umm..well...once, I was having this nightmare, and E.T. was next to my bed trying to eat me...and, um...cuz I always have scary dreams about him, and he--well--he was wearing, like, this cat suit, and he jumped on me and I tried to punch him to the wall, but he just was still eating me, and.............(?!?!?!?! WHAT?!?!What does this have to do with anything? And have you ever considered medical help?)

Well, our house is sinfully freezing, and my hands are almost numb, so....later!

Thoughts

Spinning a rather chubby child around in circles for the last 5 minutes had begun to take its toll. Looking down into the child's face as she jabbered endless 2 year old talk, I nodded and smiled patiently--clueless as to what she was trying to tell me, but still attempting to reassure her of my interest. A wail waivered my attention. There was some sort of commotion at the drop off door, and a couple nursery workers were engaged in the painful process of mother/child separation. Finally, the door opened, and a little girl stumbled in, her tiny hands pressed to her face. I caught my breath. The little girl only came ever so often, and each time she did my heart broke. Today she was wearing a thin, worn spring dress--insuffiecient covering for the winter months and the chill of the building. The faded yellow print made her unsmiling face look sallow, and accented the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her thin brown hair was uncombed, and immpossibly matted in the back. She wore mismatched tennis shoes that were each a different size and added at least two inches to the length of her feet. She had no socks, and her underclothes were so big that they bunched up and threatened to fall off completely. I placed the child I had been entertaining back on the floor and walked slowly over to the newcomer. She stood unmoving--tears in eyes that seemed to see nothing. When she did move, it was almost wraithlike. She distanced herself from the other children as if that is what she was accompanied to doing, and did not smile. I made my way slowly toward her. She still seemed to disregard me, dully fingering a toy car across the carpet. Gently, I picked her up. She was unsurprisingly light, but the limpness of her tiny body was alarming. It was as if she couldn't hold herself up. I pulled her into my lap and began to play with her. My only reward was a long, blank stare.
Later, after song time and the lesson, I was back to my usual routine of throwing children into the air, "flying" them, playing a dangerous amount of Ring-around-the-Rosie, and chasing the only two boys in the class of 12--that somehow made up for their small number. At this moment, I was helping them "jump," hurling them up towards the ceiling, catching them, then making loud exclamations to how high they went. I noticed the little girl standing and observing, so I held out my arms and asked her if she wanted a turn. She walked to me and took my hands. After repeating the activity, I saw something new on her face---expression. It wasn't a very readable one, but it was there all the same. I marked this as progress. Meanwhile, one of the other workers had combed her hair, and I brushed it out of her face and into a little ponytail. I was surprised to find that she was actually very pretty, and began to see a little more life in her round grey eyes. Near the end of classtime, she walked over to me and stood, picking at her dress as most 2 year olds do. With a smile I began to talk to her--laughing and teasing until I finally swung her around and held her.
I witnessed a tiny miracle. She didn't laugh or giggle, but lit up with a soundless smile. For a moment, the emptiness of her face was filled, and whatever burden she carried seemed to fall--forgotten. For children that smile all the time, joy does not have an obvious effect. This little girl however, was transformed. The smile of course, only lasted for a couple seconds, but my heart was ready to explode. Before I left I hugged her one last time with all the love I am capable of.
"Goodbye..." I began to whisper, then realized that I didn't know her name. I moved her hair aside and read the sticker nametag on her back.
I sat back and looked at her--speechless at the irony of my next word.

Hope.

Her name was Hope.

_________________________________________________

Well--after nursery, I headed over to my 2nd grade sunday school class--which is of another tone entirely! For some reason,they were all extremely hyper, loud, and random (more so than usual anyway!) After a few minutes of discussion about their weekends and the upcoming valentine's day (which started a lot of laughing and finger-pointing and "I know who you like"s and girls in adamant denial) we got to the lesson. Now, I'm not sure what it is about children--but they rarely understand the meaning/point of a given question. They view all questions as an
opportunity to tell a story that lasts ten minutes about their new Star Wars game, or Peyton Manning, or what their siblings did to them sometime last year, or the monumental vacation they took to their great Aunt Mildred's house.
Of course, there is always one child that is capable of answering every question correctly every week, but I try to call on everyone--giving them a chance to participate.
For example: I ask the question, "What are some ways that we can be a good testimony to our friends?" Here is how it went today.
Child #1 (very "high strung," randomly gets up, throws himself on the floor, or runs around the classroom. He has his arm stretched as far as it will go and looks very excited to share his input. I call on him)
"Yes?" (Here the kid jumps out of his seat.)
"Do ya wanna hear a noise?" (Of course, I am thinking at the moment that I would like to hear anything but a noise, but before I can respond, he lets out a very high pictched scream/cough noise that was both alarming and COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. After exchanging confused glances with my helper, I called on the next kid who imformed me,
"I know how to look like a monkey on the monkeybars!"
(Umm...okay...that's nice....?) HE then proceeded to pull off a very accurate monkey imitation that accomplished Evolution in 10 seconds--
when the entire 2nd grade decided to be monkeys.
I finally got them somewhat back on track and reitterated my question. I got a few good answers, but they soon led back to the normal assortment of random stories that seemed to compete with eachother:
"I talked to my neighbor about coming to church so I could have a good testimony..."
"MY neighbors don't go to church..."
"One time, my neighbor told me.."
"Yeah? well my neighbor HIT me!"
"I don't have a neighbor."
"My neighbors have this dog that..."
"I used to have a dog..."
"When I grow up I want to be a dog trainer!"
"I'm going to be a ballerina!"
"Ewwww....gross!"

And so the discussion usually ends about here, because by this time, I've racked my brain to think of a way to tie in what they're saying with the lesson--and failed.
Near the end of class, the kids were completing their papers when one boy called me over.
"I have a question." He looked very serious and motioned for me to sit next to him before continuing. (I am, of course, expecting a deep question about our lesson discussion, or the Bible verse, or something.)
He went on. "If your husband was a guy in the navy, or the army, or the air force, or (he listed every division/branch of the armed forces he could think of)...and you had a kid, and then one day your kid got a friend...maybe he seemed nice and stuff, but he was really mean and he was always trying to beat up your kid and he didn't know what to do---would you tell your kid to fight or run?"

And that was the question.

I came up with some answer--but am still overwhelmed by the way a 2nd grader's brain works. I never know what to expect and will never look at the world the same way again!
I love my class though--it's one of my favorite things to do...I wish I could spend individual time with all of them and get to know them better!

Wow. This has been a long post. Therefore, I would like to leave you with a valentine that one of my 2nd grade girls gave me to read outloud to all the boys in the class. (Get 'em all at the same time--sounds good to me!)

Dear Boys,

Happy Vallintins Day:

Roses are Red.

Vilets are blue.

Boys are swet,

But girls rool.

X

O

And I mean that with all of my heart.

Goodnight.

A cliche post about college

I won't obsess too much, but I visited IWU again today and really liked it. (As in, even more than last time) I've already discussed all of this with my parents, so I don't feel like posting all the pros and cons (and you wouldn't care anyway) so I'll just change the subject, discuss my life, and leave my post title completely irrelevant.
Whew! The conference is over, and even though I enjoyed my little job--I'm relieved. This week has just been strangely draining. I have no reason to be unhappy, but I feel restless and discontent. The result is a very snappy Rebecca that generally bites people's heads off at the slightest provocation. (Ah well--at least the death is quick and painless) Anyway, I think I'm tired. The Moldovans (all five of them) stay up until 12am almost every night playing pool outside my room, laughing and making fun of eachother. Then yesterday, I cleaned Aruna's kitchen, which although it sounds minimal, was really quite arduous. I ended up waxing her wood floors by hand. (and in a skirt!) I pulled the granny trick of transforming a skirt into coolots, (I'd try to explain it, but I'm afraid my description of the process would be misinterpreted! Ask me about it sometime though, and I'll explain it.) clipped all my hair back, got out my bucket and rag and set to work. It wasn't until Alexander came in and almost died laughing at me that I realized how strange I probably looked. Ah well. I got it done! As if he should laugh anyway...in his adorable highwaters/socks with sandals/chocolate smeared over a mischevious grin...we actually made a pretty funny pair!! As much as I joke about "my child," he's most definately my favorite little boy ever, and I will miss him desperately when I move away. I'm afraid he'll like, grow up while I'm gone--and it's hard for me to reconcile myself to the thought of someone else "taking my place"...

Hmm...well...I just consulted with my inner self and have decided that I either need to hang out with people soon, retreat to the solitude of my room with a book, get a life, or take medication.

So goodbye.

Deep Breath

I listened with satisfaction to the beeping of the microwave and retrieved my mug of African tea. Allowing it to warm my hands, I brought it close to my face, breathing in the distictive flavor while steam rolled over my face---soothing and relaxing.

Then I burnt my nose.

(I'm not sure how, but either the glass was fuller than I thought, or my nose is very long...)

Anyway...that was just part of my day. Most of it was spent in the cold chemistry lab at school selling books for the conference. It sounds bad but it really isn't. Not the most fascinating occupation of course, but nice. I basically just set up and maintain a miniature library while also running the cash register. I've discovered a new and deep love for the click click click ding! sound of that little machine. It provides many moments of amusement during my long hours of labor. Also, I receive regular visits from my friends who are taking the conference (and the entertainment accompanying them.) Besides that, I draw on the board, (then erase it really fast and look guilty when a person walks in. I don't know why I look guilty--all I do is write my name as many different ways as I can think of, but the unexpected intrusions never cease to make me throw the marker down and smile suspiciously!) play with my palm pilot, attempt to focus and write scholarship essays, read the books I'm selling, (or at least the first part of every chapter so that I can sound convincing and professional when I offer each customer my intelligent assessment of the reading material.) and...that's about it. The day actually goes really fast, and my only complaints would be the temperature and the shirt I wore today and didn't like.
Ummm...I babysat Alexander again and somehow lost a bag of groceries on my way from Aruna's van to the kitchen. (or so I've been accused) I really wouldn't be surprised if I did! I don't know why I've been so tired this week, considering all I do is stand around all day, but I return home pretty out of it. This afternoon, I tried to put the confectionate sugar in the refridgerator and DID put the "refridgerate only" waffles in the pantry. I can't seem to remember what I'm supposed to be doing...but what's new?
Hmmm...I can't really think of anything else. I watched American Idol.
Oh! and I rode my brother's bike to Aruna's house. It was weird. I haven't ridden a bike in SO long...and there I was, heartily pedaling (swerving!)down the road with my huge lip bag (duffel bag with lips on it actually)slung over one shoulder, throwing me horribly off balance. (It kept hitting the front wheel, making the entire bicycle jump, and the momentum of it swinging back and forth made the bike do the same.) Not to mention that my hands were numb, my too-big coat was ballooning out behind me, I couldn't see well because I was wearing my glasses, and I had on backless tennis shoes that inhibit any kind of progressive pedaling.
Ahh well...The only other thing I can think of is a poem I wrote in my hours of solitude. IT IS NOT WRITTEN TO ANY OF YOU AND SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. So for all you wishful thinkers--NO. It's just...poetry. You take a tiny (or non-existent!) emotion and play on it. I think my warning is now sufficient so here goes...

One day, cold and unfeeling,

One tear fell down my face.

One finger made it vanish,

While another took its place.

One sigh broke through the darkness,

One whisper of "alone..."

One cry pervaded silence,

And I knew it was my own.

Then truly unexpected,

One moment found surprise.

You met my gaze and smiled,

My reflection in your eyes...

One glance is all I needed,

One dream had just come true--

The sun expelled the emptiness

I knew the one was you.

Well anyway, 'till nextime!

a lapse

Guess what I'm doing?
EATING POPCORN!!! Which means that I currently love my life, and although my head is still faintly pounding with echoes of former chaos, my brain is functioning minimally--observing nothing but the pleasant crunch of my popcorn.
I'm so glad it's Friday! I can't wait to sleep in tomorrow. (sleep...the word sounds almost familiar...) The week went by super-fast for me, and by the end, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to keep ahead of myself. Is it my imagination seniors--or do we have a lot going on? I mean, no it's not impossible, and yes, I pretty much make life harder for myself because I'm irresponsible, but I feel torn in every direction!

Oh well...it will all be over soon.

And so will this post...i really can't think of any recent thoughts to discuss. The only strong thoughts I had all day today involved my mechanical pencil. And so I will tell:

I only have one left from the original set of ten and basically guard it with my life. Writing with a mechanical pencil is so satisfactory that I opt not to use anything else unless required to. Therefore, I am always careful to put it away after I use it--insuring that I don't misplace it or leave it on my desk for the next pair of greedy hands. This however, presents a problem. When I put my pencil away, I put it in one of two places: #1 The small pocket in the front of my backpack, or #2 My purse. The conflict re-arises every time I sit down for my next class and reach to get the pencil. I basically undergo mental interrogation. Did I put it in my bag...or my purse? Bag...or purse? I must have put it in my bag...(slight pause as I begin to unzip the pocket) No wait! I put it in my purse! I distinctly remember puting it there (I now bend down to grab my purse, knocking approximately everything off my desk and almost falling over in the process. Finally, I get the purse and look inside.) I know it's here somewhere...(I rumage through the endless collection of random stuff, taking out most of my purse's contents and laying them in my lap.) I know I put it in here! (still feeling around for it) Fine. Maybe it's in my backback--but if I can't find it there, I'll have to go through my purse again...I'll just keep the purse out for now. Here I carefully lean down, one hand holding my opened purse and its spilled contents in my lap. I reach for my backpack---and everything falls out of my grip for a second time. Now however, I don't really care. I have only one mission in mind. With both hands, I heave my backpack on top of my desk. Annoyed and dissconcerted, I rip open the pocket only to discover an assortment of out-of-ink pens and unsharpened pencils. My mechanical one is nowhere. Aaaaahhh! But whatever. It's fine---I can deal! (I settle for a slightly chewed pen.) Finally, after discontentedly scrawling notes that are full of mistakes, the bell rings. I somehow manage to stuff all of my things back into their places and pick up my book. A blank expression crosses my face as my book reveals what fate would not. There is my mechanical pencil, resting calmly on the cool surface of my desktop. At this time, only one thought has penetrated the stunned state of my brain. I hate life.

Yes, yes--this story is sad but true. And the drama begins each new class period...

But anyway...We don't have school next week! I'm looking foward to working at the conference, and no homework. Also, we have 5 people from Moldova staying with us (most of them stayed with us last year--they're awesome!) which means lots of late night laughter, stories, good food (my mom practically bought a restaurant to feed us all) and that I have to share my bathroom with all three of my brothers. Yeah. That would be the downside. Oh well. I suffer in silence. (Unless the toilet doesn't get flushed!---Then vengeance will be mine!

Well...

Have a nice break--and have a nice life.